


The Hardest Thing

by ErisAcolyte



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flowerfell, Alternate Universe - Horrortale, Blood and Gore, Multi, NSFW, Probably some sex stuff too, Silent Hill 3, Violence, gender neutral frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 30,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6861667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisAcolyte/pseuds/ErisAcolyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the Horrortale AU (http://horrortale.tumblr.com/) and the Flowerfell AU (https://underfart-snas.tumblr.com/), I drew a picture of HT! Sans and Papyrus finding one of those harmless, little yellow flowers...</p><p>(Link to the picture, in case you're interested: http://erisacolyte.tumblr.com/image/144225027720)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Descent

_“The hardest thing in this world...is to live in it.” - Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

 

The first thing Frisk remembers is flying. The sun shines brightly in the pale blue sky, dazzling them as they sweep through the clouds, the light shining off the gold wings that envelop them. An absolute sensation of freedom, a joy so strong their heart could scarcely contain it.

...but something was wrong. The light became distant and cold and those golden wings shattered into fading yellow fragments around them as they fell past the earth and deep into the darkness below.

Not the golden feathers of an angel's wing, but the pale, fragile petals...of flowers.

 

–

 

They come to in a spot of moonlight, bathed in its blood red glow. They sit up, dizzy and confused, immediately reaching for a spot on their back...but there's nothing there. Their questing hands reveal nothing but a faint lingering sense of pain, and loss.

“I...was flying?” Frisk jumps at how small and alien they sound, sat in a patch of crumpled blossoms, the sky above nothing more than a faint pinhole through which the blood moon shines. They stand, shakily, wincing at the litany of cuts and bruises they feel. Looking up at the great chasm they find themselves at the bottom of, though, their injuries are surprising light.

Reflexively, Frisk clutches at the symbol of the Yellow God around their neck-- a bright, golden disk, shaped like a human's poor perception of the sun. “Or a little, yellow flower.” They whisper, before biting their lip at the sound of their own blasphemy.

Memories came flooding back with the pain-- the temple on the surface, the sacred mission to bring peace to the monsters-- the servants of the Red God, of the Blood Moon. They had called Frisk a softhearted fool.

Frisk's hand clutches tighter at the sun around their neck. The hard, gold edges dig into the soft palms of their hands and, for the briefest moment, a distant voice seems to call to them--

_Alright, sweetheart?_

\--but Frisk shakes their head to clear it, resolute. “I will prove them wrong. Kindness is not madness. The love of the Sun is for all creatures. I _know_ it.”

A soft chuckle in the darkness breaks their determined stance as a figure steps out of the shadows. “Talking to yourself _is_ a sign of madness, my child.” A towering woman, hunched and wild-eyed-- a cross between woman and hellish goat. The brand across her eye stood out, livid on her pale, matted fur. “I would know.” She added, grinning and abruptly holding out a taloned paw.

“Poor, injured child-- let me help you.”

Frisk step forward, wary but resolute-- and found themselves wreathed in blood red flame. Too shocked to even scream, they fell backwards as the world turned black.

 

–

 

Frisk woke in darkness, in a musty smelling room. Wincing, they sat up, clutching the pendant around their neck and concentrating-- a soft, golden light emanated from the symbol of their faith, illuminating the room.

It was a child's bedroom...once. Clothing was piled in dusty corners. Men's, women's...children's.

Frisk's eyes fell upon a discarded child's shoe, its laces rusty with long-dried blood and shuddered. The door to the room creaked open, then and, wide-eyed, Frisk turned to see the goat woman standing there with an expression of concern.

“Awake already, my child? You truly _must_ be blessed.” The woman half strides, half scuttles forward, as if torn between fear and concern. Frisk nods, faintly and pushes themselves off of the bed. With the sheets falling away, though, they find two very surprising facts-- first, the goat woman took their clothes! Certainly, the white robes of the clergy weren't the most practical of garments for traversing the Underworld...but this was _certainly_ not better.

But embarrassment was quickly replaced with alarm as they noted the second surprising fact, surveying the strange, blood red scars that traversed their body. “W-what?”

The goat woman smiled, evidently proud of herself, “The Red God does not see much wisdom in healing others, but I persevered for you, my child.”

“T-these scars?” Frisk ran their fingers over a blood-red smudge of knotted scar tissue on their collarbone. The skin felt dull and slightly chill to the touch, like flesh already dead.

“The Red God takes their price.” The woman shrugged, tapping the charred flesh around her eye. She suddenly starts, with a wide and somewhat unsettling smile.

“But I have been rude, my child! I have not introduced myself.” She makes a sweeping bow, eerily reminiscent of a courtly lady. “I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins and _this_ \--”

She sweeps her hand out, grandly, “--is your new home!”

 

 


	2. The Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still inspired-- who knew? Frisk faces the first hurdle on their journey. Original credit to Flowerfell and Horrortale:
> 
> https://underfart-snas.tumblr.com/  
> http://horrortale.tumblr.com/

 

 

The house Toriel claims to be _their_ new home, is a small and dusty affair. Once, perhaps, it _was_ a place of love and warmth...but now? Now, the house is dark and Frisk breathes in ancient dust and regret with every step they take. The light from their pendant saves them from crashing into the neglected, dusty furniture and, despite their misgivings, they cannot help but feel a pang of sympathy for Toriel, who seems to be trying her absolute _best_ to make them feel welcome.

“Here! I made you soup-- it would have been stew, but I don't believe you'd be to –ah hah-- _stomach_ it.” Toriel giggles, putting a steaming bowl of soup down on the dusty dining room table and giving Frisk such a painfully bright smile that Frisk finds themselves smiling back.

“Thank you.” They sit and take up a spoon of soup, suddenly famished. So famished, in fact, that they completely fail to see the intense look in Toriel's eyes, or the way her talons are digging into the tabletop.

...and later, in bed, as they have vomited for the eleventh time, they'll be far too sick to see how pleased the caretaker looks as they hold back their fever sweat-matted hair.

 

–

 

When Frisk wakes up, it is not in the small, musty bed, but face down in the patch of pale, yellow flowers. High overhead, the pinhole of sky is showing the brilliant light of the sun, but the chasm's floor is too far down to let the warmth hit Frisk. They groan and sit, disoriented but, thankfully, no longer sick.

They take stock, noting the return of their white robes with some bemusement. They push the sleeves up-- the red scars are still there. An experimental poke shows, too, that the scarred flesh remains horribly dead and cold.

A faint breeze ruffles Frisk's hair and something soft brushes against their ear. Confused, they reach up to feel...petals? They make to pull the errant blossom out of their hair and gasp at the sharp shock of pain that follows. Frightened, their trembling fingers feel out the root of the flower—its _inside_ them. “Oh, _God._ ” They whisper, eyes wide and staring.

Shaken, they nevertheless get quickly to their feet, intent on asking Toriel what had happened--

\--but then a flash of memory assaults them. The soup. The soup _must_ have been poisoned. God, Frisk had thought they were going to die that night. The vomiting hadn't ceased, merely changed from expelled food to thick, bright blood. Eventually, they had found breathing far too hard and had gone to sleep...

“And w-wound up here?” Frisk blinked, confused. “Why would Toriel dress me and put me b-back here?”

“Why, indeed?” A woman's voice calls out and Frisk reels. Its Toriel, looking at her with an expression of mild curiosity. “How could I have put you anywhere, child? I've not yet met you!” Toriel giggles, manically, but Frisk sees the truth in the woman's words.

“Y-you really haven't...have you?” Their voice is too small to hear and when Toriel proffers her taloned paw, again, Frisk takes it numbly and follows them, still reeling, to the house in the ruins.

 

–

 

They get to keep their clothes this time, as Toriel's healing seems to have stayed, even if her memory did not. The day met the same notes as the evening before, had. Toriel showed them the Ruins, cautioning them against the small, vicious monsters that lived there, before showing them around _their_ new home. Then, in the evening, Toriel made soup and Frisk sat down to eat it-- they took up a spoonful and noted, as they had not prior, the strangely metallic taste underneath the spices.

Frisk coughed and spluttered. Poison, definitely.

Toriel started at their cough, splintering the tabletop with her talons. “My child! Are you okay?”

Frisk spluttered some more and waved frantically for water. Looking genuinely concerned, Toriel dashed off to get the water and Frisk, sighing heavily, muttered a prayer to the Yellow God in her absence, concentrating until the soup shimmered slightly, the poison purified.

By the time Toriel returned, Frisk was able to smile and finish the soup. And later that night, they weren't ill, at all and Toriel was surprised, to say the very least.

 

-

 

Come the morning, the food was poisoned, again and Frisk decided to say something. “T-toriel?”

“Yes, my child?”

“Y-you don't have to h-hurt me. I-I _want_ to be here.” Frisk stammered, hoping the determination in their eyes made up for the tremor in their voice.

Toriel jumped. “Hurt you? Why do you think--”

Frisk sighed and quietly pushed the porridge they'd been served to the table's middle. They found themselves both staring at it for a long, silent moment.

Eventually, Toriel broke the silence, hanging her head, “I...I just wanted you to stay, my child. They all leave, sooner or later, the humans who fall down here. They go out there...and they die.”

She looks up, then, eyes blazing red. “I wanted to spare you that torture, child! I wanted to _protect_ you!” Flames flicker around her as she wraps her arms around herself, shaking.

Frisk pushed their chair away and strode over to her and wrapped her arms around the woman, tightly. “I-I'm okay. I'm h-here. You don't have to worry.”

The flames singed Frisk's robes and the ends of their hair and that burning smell, perhaps, was what jolted Toriel out of her misery. She looked up. “Aren't you mad?”

Frisk shook their head, quietly. “I c-can stay with you as...as long as you need me.”

Toriel blinked away tears, goggling. “Truly?”

“T-truly.”

 


	3. The Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk's adventure continues-- I'm wondering, should I add a "Powerful Frisk!" tag? I've kinda given them the powers of a DnD cleric. Also, a cookie to any readers who can spot the other game I'm referencing in this fic.
> 
> As per the usual, this crossover is inspired by the Horrortale and Flowerfell AUs; go check them out!
> 
> http://horrortale.tumblr.com/  
> https://underfart-snas.tumblr.com/

 

The next few days were a very tiring kind of wonderful. Toriel had obviously been through many years of hardship before Frisk had arrived, and they'd shaped her into a nervous, flinching woman. Frisk found themselves reassuring her, constantly.

It wasn't without injury, either. Toriel hugged like a drowning woman and Frisk was often forced to pray to the Yellow God to knit their bruised and tender ribs.

Still, even if it was tiring, it was progress. You could not help but feel loved, here. Toriel showed Frisk the Ruins, where to find food, which monsters to avoid (“All of them, my child. You look _far_ too tasty for those wretches.”) and how to garden.

It was the gardening that Frisk found most peaceful, though they still marveled at the complexity of the magics that allowed Toriel's plants to grow in this strange, sunless land. It was here in the garden that they grew close, and that Toriel began to open the floodgates to her past.

Only little snitches, here and there: a cruel King as a husband, the tragic death of her son, his body displayed in a crucifixion pose on the castle's battlements...and another child.

But Toriel always stopped at that point, eyes fixed on some distant memory that Frisk could not possibly see. She was always gentle in those moments, stroking Frisk's hair so lightly, as if frightened Frisk would shatter underneath her hand.

“You look so like them, my child...if they...if they had grown up...”

And then Toriel would inevitably stand up quickly, abandoning whatever activity the two had been sharing and leaving Frisk alone. It didn't help to go after her-- she'd just shut herself further away the times Frisk tried.

 

-

 

Eventually, Frisk took to wandering-- the idea, after all, was to try and understand the monsters that plagued humanity when the Blood Moon loomed large on the surface. Fear made such exploration difficult, but Frisk was determined and, soon enough, they ran into a pallid, toad-like creature, its body wreathed in a buzzing halo of bloated flies.

“H-hello?” Frisk tried, putting a hand out in what they hoped was a comforting manner.

But the creature must have failed to understand them and the sudden attack was surprisingly brutal. Worse, though, were the choir of croaks from the shadows of the Ruins as Frisk, bleeding, staggered to their feet.

There were more than a dozen of them, all staring Frisk down with glowing, empty eyes, their croaks forming a sinister, rising chorus. Frisk put their hands up, shakily-- they _knew_ the incantations to drive back monsters, had been taught them their very first day at the temple—but they could not bring their lips to form the words, could not bring their heart to focus on the Yellow God's burning, cleansing light.

“A-always b-be kind.” They whispered, before the creatures descended and rent them, limb from limb.

 

–

 

They woke in Toriel's front garden, lying on their side, breathing shallowly. They sat up, and immediately felt the soft brush of petals over their ear. Frowning, Frisk raised a hand up to the spot and blindly felt out...two flowers. Shaking their head, they made their way into the house and checked their reflection in the mirror.

Now _two_ of the sunny, yellow blossoms grew from their scalp, above their left ear. Frisk tugged the new blossom, gently, wincing at the expected flash of pain. A glint of light made them look down at the Sun pendant around their neck. “...t-these flowers. T-they look so familiar...”

“Yes, they do, don't they?” Toriel's voice makes Frisk jump. The goat woman had been stood in the doorway of her bedroom, silent and sinister in the shadows.

Frisk made to respond, but the glint of vicious red in Toriel's sunken eyes made the words die in their throat.

“ _Why_ , child? Why must you wear these flowers? One was bad enough, but two? Are you _MOCKING ME?!”_

Toriel's voice rose with each word, the reddened glitter in her eyes showcasing the madness within. Frisk stepped back, frightened, and tripped on their robes, landing hard on the floor.

Toriel laughed, a fast and broken sound. “Oh, no, my child. You didn't mean to upset me, did you?” She knelt down in front of Frisk, patting her head gently as Frisk stammered incoherently, shaking their head.

“No...no, of course not. You're such a sweet child. You wouldn't do such a thing...not on purpose.” Toriel smiled widely, suddenly.

“But these flowers... _they_ have to go.” She made to pluck them and Frisk gagged from the sudden spark of pain.

“N-no, please! T-t-t-they're a-attached!” Frisk managed, as the angry light returned to Toriel's eyes like a banked flame. “Well, we'll have to fix _that_ then, won't we?”

And then, before Frisk could do more than let out a strangled scream, Toriel _yanked--_

 _\--_ and the world exploded into blood, pain and merciful darkness.

 

–

 

Frisk woke in bed, hand instantly at the side of their head. The skin felt cold and puckered, like dead flesh, the hair around it torn away. They jumped as a sigh greeted them and they forced their eyes to focus through the pounding headache.

“I'm so sorry, my child. Healing...I find it very hard.” Toriel spoke from her spot on the floor by Frisk's bed. Blood soaked the front of her tattered dress and matted the fur of her arms.

“But I fixed it, my child. The Red God is a selfish God, but I did my best...” She smiles, gently and holds up a taloned hand, holding it up to the level of her eyes. “My, but there was _so_ much blood...”

Idly, she licks her claws clean and Frisk forces themselves not to gag. “I...t-thank you for h-healing me.” They manage, voice faint with nausea.

“Of course, my child. You've been so kind. I couldn't let you die _now_.” Toriel's gentle smile widened in a crazed grin. “You've shown me that I don't have to be alone, so I promise, my child, I will take the best care of you-- forever and ever.”

 

 


	4. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories come to light-- but what do they mean?
> 
> (I really should draw Cleric!Frisk at some point...)
> 
> Inspired by Horrortale and Flowerfell, two amazing AUs that you simply *must* look into:
> 
> http://horrortale.tumblr.com/  
> https://underfart-snas.tumblr.com/

 

 

The next few days were a kind of cloying hell. Toriel refused to let Frisk out of her sight, either stalking along after them like a skittish shadow, or occasionally losing patience and simply snatching them up like a sack of potatoes.

With all this ill treatment, Frisk found themselves recovering quite slowly from the head injury. The spot was still cold and numb to the touch, and Frisk shuddered whenever they accidentally brushed their hair back over it.

The Red God, all scripture decreed, was a God of the self, and thus offered very little in the art of healing others. Toriel's magic had closed the wound, certainly, but the blood loss and headaches were taking time to get over.

Worse, the Yellow God's mercy was to be bestowed upon others! Frisk's healing magic was powerful...but only when they used it to help beings other than themselves. Every morning, they said a hopeful prayer, and were allowed some small measure of healing, but the effort taxed them, greatly.

Eventually, Frisk realised, with a heavy heart, that they would never accomplish their goal of bringing peace to the Underworld if they stayed here...

...and the nightmares only seemed to confirm that fact.

 

–

 

The dream begins in a blossom covered meadow-- the sky is a beautiful, egg-shell blue and the puffy white clouds slowly drift across the heavens, while the Sun shines through, giving warmth and life to the ground below.

Frisk is younger in this dream-- younger and lighter. There are no injuries here, no regrets. They laugh without fear as they run through the meadow, twirling until they fall down, dizzy and breathless, to look at the clouds, above.

Yellow flowers surround them, like a golden bed.

 

_(A voice intrudes)_

 

The sky is so blue that it seems to stretch into infinity and Frisk squints against the Sun's glare as it peeks out from behind a cloud.

 

_(“Sweetheart?”)_

 

But the air is getting colder, now and the clouds are getting thicker, turning from the purity of white to the confusion of grey. Frisk blinks, wrapping their arms around themselves against the sudden chill. They look down at their sleeves, confused. These aren't the robes of the Order-- its...a jacket? A puffy black one, like the common folk wear.

 

_(“I didn't catch that.”)_

 

Tears came to their eyes for reasons they couldn't even begin to fathom as the sky grew dark, the thick clouds roiling with the promise of a coming storm. The Red moon rose, then, moving across the sky to meet the blinding Sun.

 

_(“...sweetheart, please.”)_

 

The Red Moon rolls into place in front of the Sun, obscuring it of everything but a bright, blinding golden ring. Frisk sits up, eyes wide with terror, and forces themselves to their feet. Why do they feel so heavy? The jacket is weighing them down--

\--its keeping them warm.

“Its dragging you back.”

Frisk whips their head around-- there's a child in front of them. “W-who are you?”

“You know who I am.” The other child smiles, but its a smile without warmth, a predator's grin that stretches far, too far across their doll-like face. “Now take that fool's jacket off. We have work to do.”

Frisk's hands are automatically raising to take it off, but--

 

_(“What's this?” A weight on their shoulders, unseen. “You looked cold, sweetheart.”)_

 

\--they still, as the horrid child in front of them shakes their head in a parody of concern. “Oh, Frisk. You never _do_ learn, do you?”

The eclipse of the Red Moon and the Yellow Sun flashes all the brighter, then and Frisk awakes, screaming.

 

 


	5. The Exodus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felt inspired, so here's the next one. 
> 
> And, as ever, do please check out the Horrortale and Flowerfell AU creators; they're works of beauty!
> 
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> https://underfart-snas.tumblr.com/

 

The sound of Frisk's scream, raw and hoarse, brings Toriel instantly to their side. The taloned hands drag them roughly out of bed and Frisk is clutched, tightly to the Goat woman's chest. They can barely breathe and try to find purchase and air as Toriel rambles incoherently in a way that _could_ have been meant as soothing, or paranoid-- its impossible to say.

Frisk manages to push themselves back, slightly, gasping as air rushes back into their lungs. Their vision is blurry and their head is pounding, but they immediately set to trying to calm Toriel down with stammered apologies.

“M'm okay! I'm okay, T-toriel-- p-please!” Toriel _finally_ sets them down, but tears are welling up in her tired eyes and Frisk quickly hugs her midriff, as tight as they can.

“S-see? It was just a n-nightm...just a dream.” They amend, wincing at the terrified look in Toriel's eyes. The goat woman sinks to the floor and sighs, leaning back against the bed.

“I have had many a night terror, my child. In all my years, I have never found a way to keep them at bay...my apologies.” She drags the tattered sleeve of her dress over her eyes, brusquely. “Just one more thing I cannot protect you from.”

Frisk sighs, and goes over to sit next to Toriel, resting their head on her side. Humming gently, they sit like that until Toriel falls asleep.

 

–

 

Once Toriel's whimpers finally turn to snores, Frisk risks standing and looks through the drawers and cabinets in the bedroom. Finding what they sought, they quickly pulled their clerical vestments over their head and put on more practical clothing-- a shirt, a striped sweater, a pair of trousers and a sensible pair of boots. They tuck the symbol of their faith under the sweater, and then their fingers still.

Why is this sweater so familiar? Who owned this sweater before? Only Toriel would know, and Frisk wasn't planning on waking the goat woman to ask.

Quietly, they crept over to the desk and penned a short note:

_“My God sends me to bring peace to the Underworld, and poor servant though I am, I must obey. Living with you has brought me nothing but happiness, Toriel, and it is that joy that drives me to forge a better world for you, and for all monster kind. Please don't hate me. I will return as soon as I am able._

_I have never had a home, Toriel, but I imagine living with you is what home must feel like._

_Love,_   
_Frisk”_

Sighing, they placed the note on the bed and quickly made their way out of the bedroom.

 

-

 

The doorway out of the ruins is marked with the Red God's sigil, and it reacts poorly to Frisk's tentative touch, heating with a blood-red glow, like the heart of a hellish forge. Frisk winces, pulling back their injured hand.

“ _There_ you are!”

Frisk's shoulders pull together as they recognize Toriel's voice. They cannot bring themselves to face her. The sound of heaving breaths and muffled sobs don't make that any easier.

“You said you wouldn't leave!”

This makes them turn, and they blanch at the tears running down Toriel's face. Flames dance around the goat woman, casting eerie shadows in the hall.

“I...I'm sorry.” Frisk winces at how weak those words sound.

“Oh, I _know_ you're sorry. But you're leaving anyway-- you can't help it! All of them left before!” Toriel laughs, manically. “Honestly, you humans must _love_ suffering, seeing how keen you've been to chase it down. Honestly, I'm not even mad, my child! Self-destruction is in your very nature!”

She breaks down into breathless giggles and Frisk has to force themselves not to go to her.

“Oh, my child-- if pain is what you seek, let me be the one to give it to you-- let me be the one to bring you _home_.”

And then the flames shoot forward and engulf them.

 

 


	6. The Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burn, baby, burn.
> 
> Once again, "The Hardest Thing" is inspired by the Horrortale and Flowerfell AUs, which are brilliant.
> 
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> Oh, and I drew a picture for the last chapter: http://joephilliactheblack.deviantart.com/art/Horror-Flower-Frisk-609634416
> 
> And, in case you are remotely interested, I have a Patreon *and* a Tumblr:  
> patreon.com/joephilliactheblack  
> http://erisacolyte.tumblr.com/

 

 

How many times can you burn to death before you go entirely insane? This, Frisk thought, as they came to in front of the Ruin's exit, _again_ , was no longer a rhetorical question.

They _couldn't_ die! Or, well, _no_ , they could definitely _die_. They could burn, horribly, their flesh blackening and bubbling as smoke cut off their airways and they fell to the floor, screaming until their voice became a hoarse, atonal wail...

...but they kept coming back. Appearing, unscathed, in front of the doors just as Toriel rounded the corner.

Well...mostly unscathed. Each new chance at life brought one of those strange, yellow blossoms, rooted into their skull-- they grew over Frisk's right ear now-- they barely have time to count, now, how many have grown there. Its enough, certainly, that they've moved beyond the ear and onto the high arch of their cheekbone. The whole area feels numb and slightly cold to the touch.

Frisk has tried everything-- pushing the door open (the sigil needs to be magically unsealed), hiding (but there's nowhere it hide), pleading (but Toriel is too far gone to listen) and finally just dodging out of the way.

But dodging...even if they're getting faster and faster, better able to see the attacks coming before they hit...it only postpones the inevitable.

And a cold voice, all the while, grows louder each time, ringing in their mind with four simple words: “You could kill her.”

The message chills Frisk, and not just for its grim content, but for the voice, itself. It sounds _so_ much like their own voice. Had they gone mad? Is that what madness sounds like?

But there's no time for philosophy now-- they've just returned, swaying with the thrum and pulse of a headache that never _quite_ seems to leave them, anymore. Their hand is on the door-- the sigil burns their palm. They hear Toriel round the corner.

A thought occurs.

Is it madness to hope, at this point? Perhaps, but why not try? If Frisk is wrong, well, they can always try again. Fighting down slightly manic laughter, they turn to face Toriel immediately, putting out a hand.

Toriel flinches, her words dying in her throat-- Frisk knows, distantly, what this stance must look like. Any number of clerics from their temple had used this stance before calling down the Yellow God's wrath on monsterkind, bringing forth the golden, burning light of the sun to burn away their impure forms...

...but no, Frisk is no slayer of monsters. Damn that cold voice, damn the madness, Frisk had promised: 'I will never raise a hand in anger'.

So, instead, they began to sing.

(<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzlYsDpYvfY>)

Toriel's hand, already flickering with the flame she had used, _countless_ times, to bring Frisk, screaming, to their end, slowly lowered as the golden light of the Yellow God began to emanate from Frisk's chest.

Their Soul, a bright, golden thing, hovered out of their chest and hung, high and bright, in the air between them and Toriel's flames flickered out, entirely, as they watched the glow fill the room with light and welcoming warmth.

Eventually, Frisk's voice gave out and Toriel dropped to her knees, sobbing into her taloned paws. “I'm so sorry, my child-- I'm so sorry.” She rambled, weeping and Frisk, overcoming their own exhaustion and fear, staggered forward to wrap her in one last, warm hug.

“I-its okay.” They whispered, far too loud in the sudden silence of the room.

Toriel whimpered, burying her head in Frisk's small, frail shoulder.

“Y-you c-c-could come w-with me?” Frisk added, dimly surprised at their own words. Eventually, though, Toriel's sobbing quietens and she shakes her head. She sits back on the floor, dust swirling around her as she looks up at Frisk. “No...I...I thank you for the offer, my child. Truly, you are the only one who's ever made an effort to be my friend. But...I cannot go back there. Curse me for a coward, but there is too much pain, there, and I do not think I could live with myself if I saw you hurt.”

Frisk nodded, trying their damndest not to think of the many, many times she'd already done _just_ that. “When I'm done...w-when I've brought peace t-to the Underworld. I _will_ return f-for you. I promise.”

Toriel shook her head, quietly getting to her feet. “Don't make promises you cannot keep, my child.” She murmured, softly, not meeting Frisk's eyes. Quietly, she raised her hand and the Sigil of the Red God on the door vanished, and the door swung silently open, revealing a snowy darkness beyond.

Frisk made to say... _something_ , anything at all, but Toriel was already walking away. Wincing, they turned and walked out the door...

...and into the Underworld, beyond.

 


	7. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk makes a new friend!
> 
> Inspired by the Horrortale and Flowerfell AUs:   
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (And why not check out my Patreon? patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

 

It can snow, underground. Frisk looked up into the dark, shadowed expanse of the 'sky' above them, and saw nothing but a deep, velvety darkness that now and then lightened with a slow, but steady flurry of falling snowflakes.

Infinitely glad that they had thought to dress practically before leaving the Ruins, Frisk trudged on, hiding their hands in the long sleeves of their sweater, head ducked down against the winds that gusted now and then through the tall, forbidding black trees that lined the narrow pathway through the woods.

Suddenly, there was a sound like a sharp crack. Frisk jumped, looking around frantically for the sound's source. A shadow fell across them and they looked up to see a large, heavy-set...skeleton.

Frisk blinked, too surprised for fear. It was, indeed, a very large skeleton, with sharp fangs and tusks protruding from its jaw. It was, in a somewhat surreal turn of events, bundled up against the cold in a large, fur lined black hooded jacket-- not miles away, truly, from the one Frisk had been wearing in their dream. Frisk made a faint, confused noise.

“Is that any way to greet a new friend?” The skeleton rasped, his voice a deeper baritone.

Startled into better manners, Frisk gamely held out a hand--

\--and the skeleton, lightning fast, drew a meat cleaver from behind his back and sliced off their arm.

Horrified, Frisk fell backwards to the ground, blood spurting from the gory remains of their mangled shoulder, spraying the once pristine snow.

“Huh. Guess I'm pretty... _disarming_.” The skeleton murmured, idly stooping to pick up the fallen limb. Frisk goggled at him, desperately clutching the ragged stump with their remaining hand, muttering fervent, desperate prayers to the Yellow God for healing.

The skeleton eyed them with a look of sudden curiosity. “Huh...don't get many clerics down here. They usually make awful... _pray_.”

Frisk continued to goggle, wincing as the Yellow God heard their prayer and the bleeding slowed. The damage was _awful_ \-- there was no way their magic would be equal to regrowing the limb, and the blood loss had them feeling light-headed and sick, their vision oddly blurred and grey along the edges.

“...g-good one.” Frisk snapped back, voice pale with exhaustion. “I'd applaud your wit but--”

They gesture at the ragged stump, self-deprecatingly. In the meantime, the skeleton had sat down nearby and was, much to their discomfort, _eating_ their severed limb. He looked up, briefly, before casually crunching through the bone of Frisk's lost forearm.

'Well, wasn't this just _wonderful_.' The sarcastic dryness of their own, unbidden thought makes Frisk giggle, despite themselves. So this, then, truly _was_ the onset of madness.

“H-hey!” Frisk spoke up, grinning a little manically. The skeleton stopped chewing on his prize and looked up, surprised.

“Yeah?”

“W-what...w-what's t-the sound of...one h-hand clapping?” Frisk managed, fighting back a wave of dizziness.

“Alright, I'll _bite_.” The skeleton replied, pausing to do just that, his sharp tusks pulling away a grizzled string of muscle. “What is it?”

Frisk grinned all the wider and, trembling, raised their good arm and flapped their hand open and closed, over and over.

The skeleton laughed, a booming, sinister sound. “Gotta' _hand_ it to ya', Preacher-- that's a good one.”

Frisk snorted. “No, no-- _I'm_ the Good one!” Before a wave of dizziness hit them and they fell backwards onto the snow, gasping at the sudden rush of pain.

The skeleton stood, then and ambled over, their shadow looming over Frisk's fallen form. Frisk struggled, weakly. “Making snow angels, Preacher?” He asked, looking faintly amused.

Frisk coughed, and forced a smile. “S-something like that...” But another lance of pain made them wince.

“Ah, now I feel bad, Preacher.” The skeleton knelt down beside them on their haunches. “You've been a good sport-- lemme' repay the favour and get you back to your Sun God quickly, 'mm kay?”

He raised the cleaver then, and too quick to see, brought it down as the world went dark.

 


	8. The Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is a comedic genius.
> 
> Inspired by the Horrortale and Flowerfell AUs:  
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (And check out my Patreon? patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

 

When Frisk came to, they kept their eyes screwed tightly shut for a long, wary moment. They didn't want to open them to see themselves back in the antechamber of the Ruin's exit, didn't want to hear Toriel's accusatory sobbing again...

...eventually, though, a cold wind rustled their hair and blew snow across their cheek and they sat up, opening their eyes cautiously to find themselves on the other side of the door, unharmed, in the dark and snowy woods.

The door to the Ruin was behind them and the air was mercifully free from the sound of Toriel's echoing weeping. Frisk sighed, rubbing their hand idly up and down their arm-- it, and the sweater sleeve it came in, were both miraculously restored.

Still...

...it was not without its by now customary price, Frisk noted, as they gingerly felt out a new blossom on their cheekbone. They sighed, tiredly. This one was worryingly close to their eye...what would happen if they died two or three more times? Would the flowers seal their eye shut? Or would they sprout, like verdant veins, from their still seeing eyeball.

Shuddering at the revolting thought, they pushed their way back to their feet, not noticing a movement in the treeline as they went-- unbeknownst to Frisk, a small, pallid flower had sprouted from between the tree roots, its one, unblinking eye watching their resurrection fixedly.

But the flower vanished underneath the frozen earth in short order, unnoticed, as Frisk heard that same, loud crunch from behind them. They tensed, but willed themselves not to jump this time as they turned to face the large, toothy skeleton.

They stared at each other this time, for a long, uncomfortable moment, before the skeleton _blinked_ , the lights in his skull winking in and out briefly, “....is that any way to greet a friend?” He murmured, low, rumbling voice softer than the last time he'd asked.

Suddenly quite vividly reminded of how poorly this meeting had gone the first time, Frisk took a step back and bowed, instead. A little too late, they wondered at the wisdom of lowering their gaze in front of a monster that they _knew_ had a meat cleaver behind his back but...

...no attack came.

Surprised, Frisk looked up to see the skeleton still giving them a curious, almost assessing look. “Uh...m-my name's F-f-frisk.” They tried, sheepishly. “W-what's yours?”

“Sans.” He rumbled back, eye sockets widening in surprise.

Frisk smiled, gamely. “A pleasure, S-sans. And might I just add one n-note t-t-to this introduction?”

Blinking, Sans nodded, slowly.

“I'm p-poisonous.” Frisk quipped, smiling genially.

Sans stared for a moment before laughing, loudly. “I guess I should be glad I've already eaten, then.” He snorted, and Frisk stared at him for a long moment, mouth open.

He outright _grinned_ , then. “What? You hoping to turn the tables and eat _me_?” He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket to expose bare boned limbs. “Preacher, you might look like you're nothing but skin and bones, but I don't even have the _skin_ thing going for me!”

Frisk covered their mouth against a very undignified snort of laughter. “Oh...I...I want to c-continue this, I truly do...but I'm h-having trouble working in an excuse t-to say _bone appetit."_

Sans gave a sharp bark of laughter at that and lowered his arm to reveal the meat cleaver he'd had hidden behind his back. Frisk winced at it, and they met gazes, again.

“Nah, Preach. Not going to kill you _now_. We need to wait until you find a good time for that pun.”

He walked toward them, then, in a lazy sort of lope. Trusting their gut, Frisk let them approach and stifled a sigh of relief when they merely began to walk alongside them through the silent, snowy forest.

After a companionably silent walk, the forest began to clear, showcasing snowy plains under the strange, velvety darkness. Here and there, bones were strewn throughout the snow drifts, sometimes arranged into strange shapes, like dreadful sculptures. Sans finally spoke, then, “My brother, though...he's a human hunting _fanatic_. Got a real taste for human flesh that hasn't been satisfied in awhile.”

Frisk frowned, but gamely quipped, “Yes, but eating m-me wouldn't satiate him. T-too Light.” They tapped the sigil of the Yellow God around their neck, setting it aglow.

Sans snorted, showing no fear of the holy light. “He's more fond of puzzles, than jokes.” He muttered, as if offering Frisk some great insight.

“How...p-puzzling.” Frisk bit their lip, and added, “I'll keep that in mind.”

They walked until they came across what looked, for all the world, like a tile puzzle carved from ice. The edges of the puzzle had spiky growths fencing off any other pathway, and the spikes themselves looked quite deadly.

“Y-your brother's work?” Frisk asked, warily, kneeling in front of the tiles to inspect them, carefully.

“I wasn't kidding when I sad he liked puzzles, Preacher.”

Frisk looked over the tiles and then stood up quickly, grinning triumphantly. “Well! L-luckily, t-that's something we have in common.”

They bravely stepped forward onto the tiles and then, feeling more confident than they had in some time, hopped and skipped across to safety. Looking amused, Sans merely drew his cleaver and shattered the spikes on the side of the path, bypassing the puzzle, entirely.

Frisk pouted. “D-don't you want t-to know how I solved it?”

“Nope.”

“B-but...”

Sans looked ahead and grinned.

“But you can tell my brother.” He pointed, and Frisk followed his gaze to where another skeleton was creeping his way out from between some nearby trees.

Much taller than Sans, this skeleton slunk low to the ground like a cat, or particularly fluid spider, towards them on sharp, spindly legs. He was dressed in a dark approximation of guardsman's armor and his hands ended in long, jointed claws that clicked, menacingly as he stalked forward.

“Sans! Is...is that a _human_?”

 


	9. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter-- real life issues meant I couldn't update earlier, so many, many apologies.
> 
> As always, "The Hardest Thing" is inspired by the excellent Undertale AUs of Flowerfell and Horrortale:  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com  
> horrortale.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

 

Frisk froze in place as the tall, spider-like skeleton dashed forwards, glancing desperately to Sans for support. Sans, for his part, had moved to sit on a nearby rock, looking bored. “Don't mind me, Preach-- I'm gonna' wait and see how you handle this.”

Lightning fast, the tall skeleton had Frisk by the arm, lifting them into the air with ease, his long, clawed fingers digging into Frisk's arm, drawing blood.

They found themselves held up to the level of the tall skeleton's eyes, where lights danced animatedly in the empty sockets. “I haven't see a human in so long, Sans! How long has it been since we hunted on the surface?”

“Last blood moon, Paps.” Sans replied, calmly, watching the proceedings with a mild look of amusement.

“Then this _is_ a treat!” The tall skeleton grinned. “I _must_ remember to share them with you!”

The tall skeleton reached forward with their free hand and his pointed fingers looked _extremely_ sharp from where Frisk was dangling. “I-I liked your p-p-puzzle!” Frisk shouted, as the fingers came closer.

The tall skeleton stilled and pulled Frisk up again, looking them over, curiously. “What?”

“I l-liked your p-puzzle!” Frisk managed, through their mounting fear.

The tall skeleton blinked. “Really?”

A wave of relief washed over Frisk as they quickly stammered a response. “Yes! V-very clever, t-the way the sculptures on the r-road hinted at t-the cipher for t-t-the tile p-puzzle!”

The tall skeleton suddenly grinned, letting go of Frisk. Before they could hit the ground, though, the skeleton had swept them up and was clutching them tight to his armored rib cage. Lightheaded and dizzy though they were, Frisk realized that they were being _hugged_.

“The human liked my puzzle, Sans! I didn't know humans understood puzzles! How clever!” The tall skeleton chirped, excitedly, squeezing Frisk tightly at each exclamation. Frisk squirmed, fighting for breath. “Y-y-yes-- I liked t-them a lot. Put me down and m-maybe we c-can discuss them?”

Sans chuckled. “Yeah, Paps...humans need air, remember?”

The tall skeleton quickly dropped Frisk and they crashed, face-first, into a snow drift. They picked themselves up, drawing in great, shuddering gasps of much needed air. “T-thank you.”

The tall skeleton abruptly dropped to the snow between them, legs folding beside him in an inhuman arch that made him look all the more like some strange, giant spider creature.

“So sorry human! My name is Papyrus and I am _so_ happy to finally meet a human who appreciates my efforts!” The skeleton held out a hand, hopefully.

Breathing having returned to normal, Frisk put out a hand and was more than a little rattled when Papyrus shook it with inhuman vigor. They smiled, despite themselves, as Papyrus launched into an animated lecture about different types of puzzles and their merits and, realizing that there wouldn't be any violence for awhile, at least, they settled back in the snow to listen to him talk.

Eventually, they began to shiver, though, and Papyrus looked them over, confused. “Does the beautiful complexity of sudoku drive you to convulsions?”

“Oh! N-no...its...I'm j-just cold.”

Sans snorted and hopped off his rock, taking off his dark, heavy jacket and draping it over Frisk's shoulders where it landed like a warm, heavy weight. It smelled faintly of blood and snow, but immediately offset the chill in Frisk's own bones.

 

 

_A memory intrudes--_

_“Are you cold, sweetheart?”_

_A jacket draped over their shoulders,a reassuring warmth._

_They feel so, so tired, but squeeze the skeletal hand tight in thanks--_

 

 

Frisk blinked, disoriented. Sans was talking to Papyrus, now...

Frisk stood, and tuned in, shaking their head to clear it. “If Preacher can make it to our house then, sure, they can stay for awhile. But if they can't...on their own head be it. I'm not in the habit of taking in strays.”

“If you say so, brother-- I hope the human makes it.” Papyrus looked over at Frisk, grinning. “Did you hear that, human? My brother says you can stay at our house in Snowdin...but you have to get there, yourself.”

Frisk blinked, still confused. “W-why?

“Need to know what you're made of. Want to know how you handle things from here.” Sans murmured, folding his arms with a distant expression.

“Is...is it v-very dangerous?”

Sans nodded, but his expression softened, faintly, at the pained look on Frisk's face. “But you can keep the jacket, Preach. At least hypothermia won't be on your list.”

Frisk smiled, faintly. “Well. I...I s-suppose I shall see you in Snowdin, then.” They quipped, sounding more confident than they felt. Sans turned to go, then, and Papyrus trailed behind, pausing to wave at Frisk, a little forlornly.

Once alone, Frisk scrubbed at the side of their face not beset by blossoms and sighed. Why was Sans doing this? What dangers lay between here and Snowdin? And why did Frisk have to brave them, unknown? What game was the skeleton monster playing?

Eventually, though, they grasped the sun pendant around their neck, closing their eyes and concentrating until they felt their faith steady them and then set off through the snow, determined.

 


	10. The Harrowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making up for the shorter chapter last time-- I took some liberties with the appearances of a few monsters, since they weren't on the Horrortale style-sheet. Hope no one minds!
> 
> As usual, this fanfic is inspired by the brilliant Undertale AUs, Horrortale and Flowerfell:  
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

 

Knowing Sans' love of puns, Frisk quickly theorized that being told to make their way to Snowdin, alone, had to be some sort of awful, mean-spirited joke.

The snowy forest remained eerily silent, until, inevitably, some terrifying monster would crash out from the undergrowth, fully intent on murdering the unarmed, terrified preacher. Frisk tried to speak to the creatures they met along the way, but were often just met with inhuman screeching and howls of hunger.

And, of course, Frisk did not always manage to outrun these beasts. And each time they failed to do so, they found themselves lashed at with strange, painful magics or terrible, rending claws and teeth. Frisk never raised a hand in anger, though, and paid the price for it, dearly.

By the time they found a marker telling them that Snowdin was nearby, they had died _six_ more times. And yes, as they had feared, the blossoms were growing around the orbit of their eye, the newest one unfurling its soft, cold petals from stem growing from their eyelid. Their vision in that eye became blurry and they feared what would happen should the flowers spread any further.

They began to creep along the path, ducking behind snowdrifts, making pains to hide the sound of their passage. 'Can they hear my heart? Can they hear it pounding in terror?' Frisk wondered, more than once. They'd taken to clutching the amulet of the Yellow God tightly in their fist-- too tightly, as its golden spokes bit into the flesh of their palm, drawing blood.

'Do that too often, and I'll turn the Yellow God into the Red one!' They laughed, and clapped their hand over their mouth, shaking. And, of course they had been heard-- barreling out of the darkness was a horrible, deer-like creature, its antlers tied with barbed wire and rope. It leapt, nimbly, landing in front of Frisk and, without any sort of ceremony, skewering them through the shoulders with its sharp antlers, lifting them up into the air. Distantly, Frisk saw their blood gush down their front, saw the creature's mouth split, sideways, to flick out a long, darting tongue to lap up Frisk's blood. The creature shook them whenever the flow turned slack, as Frisk struggled, vainly, to pull themselves free. As spots began to dance in front of their eyes, as their arms grew to heavy to raise in efforts to push themselves free...

...they noticed the ropes and wires piercing the creature's eyes and head. Noticed its look of pain...

They put a hand out and pushed all of their energy forward, filling the clearing with the bright, pure golden light of the Yellow God. Blinded, the creature leapt backwards, throwing Frisk clear. They landed, gracelessly in a snowdrift and struggled to get to their feet.

The light began to fade and the creature blinked, warily, as the ropes and barbed wire began to fall loose on its antlers, no longer held down by the fleshy scabs that had grown over their bindings. Its face was healed and its eyes were no longer obscured-- triumphantly, it shook the bindings out of its antlers and blinked its freshly healed eyes. Frisk smiled, weakly.

It looked at them, for a long, suspicious moment before simply turning and walking silently back into the shadowed depths of the forest.

Frisk sighed and flopped back onto the snow, catching their breath and praying, tiredly to the Yellow God to heal their wounds. The blood flow from their punctured shoulders mercifully stopped, and they felt the beginnings of scabs begin to form. The effort left them feeling dizzier than ever, but they forced themselves to roll to their feet and begin trudging forward, once more.

 

 

–

 

 

The stick Frisk picked up to help them limp their way through the snowy fields turned out to be useful for more than just hobbling. It seemed that all dogs, even horrific, bloodthirsty monster ones, enjoyed a game of fetch.

 

 

–

 

 

Their progress was slow, but thankfully unimpeded, now. Hours had likely passed, and Frisk's faith allowed them slow, but potent regeneration with enough time-- the wounds the deer-thing had left were now but distant memories, although the light-headed feeling remained. More pressing, though, was the hunger-- Frisk hadn't eaten since leaving Toriel's house in the Ruins, and nothing they'd seen on their journey looked even remotely like food.

Still, they were determined to press on, and seeing the distant lights of a town as they crested a high hill only deepened their resolve. Smiling, they picked their way quickly down the hill, exultant to make the last stretch until they could see friendly faces once more. Strange to think of the skeletons as friendly, but once they'd found things they had in common, the brothers had opened up to them, and really, wasn't that the point of this journey?

As they reached the base of the hill, they heard a low, dark laugh that seemed to originate from the base of their own skull. It was a sinister laugh, and they shuddered at how... _familiar_ it sounded.

But that shudder was cut short by the sound of boots stomping through the snow-- Frisk seized up as, rounding the corner, came two hideous dog-like beasts, each clad in heavy, black plate, each carrying a tall, wicked looking halberd. As they came closer, Frisk gaped, for this dark realm could surprise them, still, with its horrors--

\--each dog-thing was only half a being, like there had been only one dog-thing, once, and someone had split it straight down the middle. The halves hopped along, unimpeded by their horrid injury and Frisk could, indeed, see their gory insides exposed to the chill winter air. They seemed, too, to have no eyes, but as they approached, each half sniffed eagerly at the air and their improbable mouths glistened with sudden drool.

“A human!" They chorused, in high and excited barks. “Lets kill it!”

Frisk ran, stumbling now and then in the snow, heart beating frantically as the creatures ran forward, their strange injuries not slowing their pursuit in the slightest. They jabbed at Frisk with their halberds but, if nothing else, the litany of horrid deaths Frisk had endured had _definitely_ taught them the virtue of dodging.

A quick jab from the one on the left made Frisk lose their balance, and the one on the right quickly capitalized on Frisk's brief fumble, hacking at their leg. Frisk rolled forward, crying out at the searing flash of pain, but continued on, now running blindly through the snow. It was, they felt, a shallow cut, but the baying of the hounds confirmed what they had feared-- they were following Frisk's scent and the smell of fresh blood on the snow made them easier than ever to track.

Panicked, Frisk fairly _threw_ themselves down the next hill they came to, tumbling chaotically through the snow, crashing now and then into felled branches and half-covered rocks. Battered and bruised, they rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill-- a rope bridge swayed before them and, without looking behind, they scrambled to their feet, ignoring the protests from their shattered body. They raced onto the bridge, moving faster than they would have thought possible, the baying of the distant hounds sending chills down their spine as the bridge swayed, alarmingly, beneath them.

“A-after all t-this, I am _not_ falling off a G-gods forsaken b-b-bridge!” Frisk shouted, madly, to the howling wind over the gorge as they willed themselves not to look back at the baying hounds, nor down at the great, dark abyss beneath the bridge. On the far side, they saw two figures standing-- one patiently, his hands stuffed in his pockets, the other excitedly, skittering back and forth on long, spindly legs.

Sans and Papyrus! Filled with a sudden renewal of determination, Frisk put forth another burst of speed as a halberd was thrown in their direction, whizzing past their ear. “Help!” They shouted, hoarsely, as they dashed across to the far side, where the skeletons waited. Papyrus immediately darted forward and snatched Frisk easily out of the air, while Sans ambled over, looking amused.

“Brother! We should help our human friend!” Papyrus scolded, hugging Frisk to them as they panted, suddenly exhausted.

“Well...let it never be said that I don't lend a helping-- _hand_.” Sans raised his skeletal hand as the dogs approached, howling madly, and a giant, monstrous skull appeared in the air next to him, its jaw hanging open to release of torrent of bright, blood red light. The two dog creatures were torn to pieces by the blast, their remnants raining down onto the bridge like a fine, bloody mist.

Sans lowered his hand and turned back to where Frisk had gone slack in Papyrus's grasp, eyes wide and pupils blown with shock.

“Welcome to Snowdin, Preach.”

 


	11. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This turned out much, much happier than I thought it would...
> 
> In case you're interested, this would be my mood music for this chapter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6Ihmyg0CxY&feature=youtu.be
> 
> As usual, this fic is inspired by the brilliant Undertale AUs, Horrortale and Flowefell:  
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (And I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

 

Frisk didn't get much more than a glimpse of the skeleton's home town, as Papyrus quickly took off his tattered black cloak and bundled them up in it. “Better we get you to our house unseen-- a lot of monsters would find you very, very exciting!” He exclaimed, laughing as Frisk squirmed in his arms to ensure their continued ability to breathe.

It was a short walk, with the muffled sounds of conversation of the townsfolk punctuated now and then by strange growls or protracted scuffles. Frisk wasn't let loose until inside. Like Toriel's house in the Ruins, it was small and bereft of lights. On the surface world, when nights could last far, far too long, the humans had grown used to using candles and magic to keep their homes lit...but the monsters, it seems, needed no such light to see by.

Frisk squinted with their good eye as Papyrus swept his arms out, grandly. “This is our home, human! Do you like it?”

“Um...”

“I don't think the Preacher can see, Paps.”

Coughing sheepishly, Frisk looked between them before nervously clutching the sun pendant around their neck and concentrating-- Papyrus jumped in surprise as the soft, yellow glow emanating from the pendant filled the room with a gentle light.

“Heh, Preacher-- you're the light of my life.” Sans quipped, flopping down on a well-worn couch in the living room. Papyrus groaned, feelingly.

“Don't bother the human with your terrible jokes, Sans!”

“Aw, Papyrus...you need to _lighten_ up.”

“ARGH!” Papyrus clutched, dramatically at their head and Frisk giggled. Their stomach chose that moment to rumble, loudly and Papyrus peered down at them, startled. “Oh no! The human is hungry! We have been _awful_ hosts!”

“Speak for yourself, Paps. The Preacher's been in my house for a whole minute, and I haven't  _once_ tried to kill them.” Sans' right eye gleamed an unholy red at “once” and Frisk gave them a long, curious look before piping up to reassure Papyrus.

But Papyrus would have none of it, and skittered out of the living room on his long, spidery legs with a cry of, “Don't worry! I know how to make human food!”

 

 

\--

 

 

Left in the living room with Paps, Frisk shuffled awkwardly. Sans snorted. “Sit down, Preach, I don't bite...”

Frisk blinked.

They stared each other down for a long, tense moment, before Frisk finally shrugged and sat down on the couch next to the large skeleton. “Um...th-thanks for lending me your j-jacket.”

He snorted. “I'd say you're welcome, but you've already managed to get it torn.” He jabbed a bony finger in one of the ragged holes left behind by the deer-creature's antlers. “I know you're a Preacher, but do ya' gotta' make everything _holy?_ ”

Frisk laughed, a bright and cheery sound that made Sans blink in mild surprise.

“Y-you're a skeleton, Sans-- its not like I can be _holier_ than thou!” Frisk's grin only widened as Sans gave a sharp bark of laughter. From the other room came the sudden sounds of cooking...or some other very noisy catastrophe involving boiling water.

Frisk frowned. “D-does...does your brother _actually_ know how to c-cook human food?”

Sans winced and made an ambivalent hand gesture. “Lets put it this way, Preach. If you're gonna' eat what he makes, you better hope you're a damn good cleric.”

Frisk sighed, feelingly. “I can purify food and w-water, yes.”

Sans lit up, again. “Hey Preach-- how do you make holy water?”

Frisk jumped up, clapping their hands in ill-contained excitement. “Y-y-you boil t-t-the _hell_ out of it!”

Sans laughed, and ruffled their hair. “You're really nerdy, Preach.” Frisk stilled in surprise at the contact. Not since staying with Toriel had any monster even _tried_ to touch them in a way that hadn't been intentionally painful or accidentally rough. But the touch of San's hand on their head was light, the bony digits gently carding through their messy hair.

Frisk leaned back on the couch, closing their eyes in appreciation as Sans, with a soft chuckle, continued to card his fingers through their hair. It was a strangely soothing feeling, and eerily familiar...

 

 

“ _How ya' feeling, Sweetheart?”_

_They try to speak, but their throat is raw with the pain of coughing up blood. Instead they reach a hand out, grasping blindly and bony fingers immediately lace between their own, clutching them tightly._

“ _Its gonna' be okay...I promise.”_

_Their free hand moves in the air: 'Don't make promises you can't keep.'_

 

 

Frisk blinked, sleepily, as the strange memory faded and heard a distant voice calling their name. Ah, time to try Papyrus'...food.

 

 

–

 

 

Papyrus' approach to cooking could be described, in the kindest terms, as _enthusiastic_. The plate of pasta in front of Frisk was limp in some places, burnt in others and the sauce atop it held many strange blobs and bits that Frisk _really_ didn't want to try and place. But they couldn't skip dinner-- there would be nothing else to eat down here and, more pertinently, Papyrus was giving them such a hopeful expression.

It would be cruel not to eat it, but first...

“Ah, P-Papyrus...I...I want t-to know what s-spices you use. C-could you get them from the kitchen f-for me?” Frisk asked, deeply relieved when Papyrus bounded off to do so with great glee. Quickly, Frisk concentrated and a vivid, gold aura shimmered over the plate.

“...I t-think this would have killed me.” Frisk muttered, goggling.

" _Bone_ apetit.” Sans drawled back, casually tucking into his equally frightening plate without any signs of concern.

Frisk rolled their eyes. “Its alright f-for some...” The muttered, but quickly plastered a cheery smile on their face as Papyrus returned with a variety of “spices” (which, quite worryingly, included rat poison).

Dinner was bland, but thankfully no longer life-threatening and, once Frisk made their peace with their mystically bland meal, they found themselves genuinely enjoying Papyrus' stories about cooking, making puzzles for wary human travelers and hoping to someday join the Royal Guard. Sans seemed less than pleased by that last one, but maintained a stoic silence for most of the dinner, interjecting rarely with a pun that would send Papyrus giddy with comic rage.

Sitting with the duo, Frisk could feel the warmth of their love for one another and found themselves wondering, forlornly, if this was what family felt like. Frowning to themselves, they cast their mind to thoughts of the surface, of the Order they served with. Had the other priests been kind? Had they shared meals like this? Why were Frisk's thoughts so muddled? Why was the surface world feeling increasingly like some strange dream they had once had?

But such thoughts would have no answers that night, as Frisk decided, instead, to enjoy this brief time of respite, cheerfully washing the dishes with Papyrus and singing hymns as they did so, to the tall skeleton's unending delight. Afterwards, Papyrus roped them all into playing board games and, after that, even demanded a bedtime story from Sans.

 

\--

 

Amused, Frisk followed the duo upstairs, and saw that the single room was _filled_ with books. Truly, there was almost no room to stand in, as the only clear spot on the floor was given over to a pile of messy bedding. Intrigued, they looked at the overflowing shelves and towering stacks of books. Many of the books were damaged, some with missing covers or pages. Now and then, a book's pages even held the tell-tale rust of old, dried blood.

“Do you like our collection, human?” Papyrus asked, easily climbing the shelves to sit atop one of the bookcases, hunting through a teetering pile for the perfect story.

“I...y-yes, but how did you g-get so many?”

“Every time there's a blood moon, we go out on the surface and bring back stuff like this. Papyrus goes nuts for human cooking ingredients, and I've gotten...” He gestured at the bookshelves, “...booked out.”

Frisk snorted, while Papyrus sighed, chucking a book down to Sans, who caught, it, easily. “Hey, Paps...don't _throw the book_ _at me_.”

The lights in Papyrus' eye sockets rolled and he dropped, nimbly, down to the pile of bedding. “Just read, Sans...no more terrible jokes.”

“Or what?” Sans drawled, coming to sit next to him. “You'll _pun_ ish me?”

“SANS!” Papyrus blinked and waved his long, clawed hands at Frisk. “Come join us, human! Sans has an awful sense of humor, but he tells great stories.”

“You might say I'm--”

“Sans, no.”

“ _Sans-_ sational.”

Frisk muffled a laugh at Papyrus' aggrieved look and shuffled over to the pile of bedding, squeaking in surprise as Papyrus snatched them up like a doll and pulled them to his chest, resting his sharp chin on their head. Frisk winced, and Sans looked them over, “Paps...you gotta' be gentle with humans, remember?”

“I _am_ being gentle.”

“You're being a _bone_ head.”

Papyrus squawked, irritated, but the pressure on the top of Frisk's head lessened and they settled down to hear Sans read. He had a deep, rumbling voice and that, coupled with the strange and awful events of the day quickly saw Frisk soothed into a drowsy half-sleep. Papyrus, feeling them settle down, began idly stroking their head with a soft hum. Eventually, Frisk fell asleep, a look of peace on their tired features.

 

 

–

 

 

Once Papyrus had followed Frisk into sleep, Sans quietly put the book down and reached out, carefully, for the blossoms growing from Frisk's cheek. He pulled on one, lightly and blinked in surprise when Frisk whimpered in their sleep.

He checked the other side of the human's head and ran their fingers along the dull, red scar tissue over their other ear. A monster had healed this, and well. Only a handful of monsters showed any aptitude for healing others, and there was, after all, only one way into the Underworld while a human was still alive.

“Who _are_ you, Preach?” He whispered, the dull, red glow of his eye pulsing as he watched them sleep. He frowned. “And what the hell is happening to you?”

 

 


	12. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frisk gets a good night's rest...
> 
> As usual, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by two excellent AUs, Horrortale and Flowefell:  
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, I have a Patreon and totally take commissions: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

Frisk slept-- in their dreams, they found themselves atop a gently sloping mountainside, looking down over a small, but bustling village. Above, the sky was a soft, bright blue and the clouds scudded lazily across it, puffy and white. The Sun shone high and bright, warming them down to the bones. They smiled at the sight of the Yellow God's light, even as a kind of confusion settled over them. Weren't they in the Underworld right now? There was no Sun below the ground, where monsters dwelt...

...and the village below looked strange. Frisk squinted down and saw odd, inhuman shapes moving through the village. Monsters? What would monsters be doing above ground during the time of the Sun? They only preyed on surface folk during the rise of the Red Moon.

But then, they didn't appear to be preying on anyone. They...just looked to be going about the daily activities that any villager would and...yes, there were _humans_ with them.

Deeply confused, but cautiously optimistic, Frisk made to walk down the hill to see this strange sight for themselves, when they heard a deep, miserable sigh behind them. Turning around, they saw the very peak of the mountain had a large, forbidding hole at the summit, wreathed in swathes of bright, golden flowers-- exactly the same as the flowers growing from the side of Frisk's face.

Bathed in the light of the Yellow God, the blossoms looked...almost cheerful. Stranger, though, was the source of the sighing. A skeleton sat, head bowed with effort, plucking flowers out of the ground with his bare hands. The skeleton...looked like Sans!

Surprised, Frisk ran over, only to stop short in renewed confusion. Yes, this was still Sans, unmistakably, but he was shorter and his teeth, although still sharp, were not _quite_ the maw that Frisk's Sans sported. One of the teeth was even gold, like a human filling.

Curious, Frisk crept closer, pulling short as Sans moved to the side to reveal a gravestone-- it said, simply:

 

_'Frisk: they were always Kind'_

 

Frisk swallowed, convulsively, eyes widening, hand instantly fluttering to clutch at the pendant around their neck. This Sans had a golden pendant of his own, they noticed-- a small, brightly glowing star.

“S-sans?”

Sans turned around at Frisk's startled question and his eye sockets widened, as if he'd seen a ghost. “F-frisk?”

He stood, abruptly, and moved over to their side, like lightning, grabbing them by the shoulders and staring at them, wildly. “H-how did you? Why are you-- w-what are you _wearing_?” He eventually settled on, eye sockets welling with bright, blood red tears.

“I-I...your j-j-jacket?” Frisk stammered, confused, but already aching with sympathy for this strange Sans, who had let the tears spill down his face.

“T-that's not...my...” He looked Frisk over, voice becoming small as he looked more and more confused. “Since w-when do _you_ stutter, sweetheart?”

Frisk blinked. “W-what did you call me?”

“Sweetheart...” He murmured, looking lost. He grabbed Frisk's chin, looking deep into their eyes. “Y-you're not fucking _them_. Who...who _are_ you?”

His fingers shook as he held Frisk's chin, weeping, “And w-why aren't you _my_ Frisk?”

 

 

–

 

 

Frisk woke with a start to find Sans-- _their_ Sans, staring bemusedly down at them, one eye glowing a dull, blood-tinged red.

“Sleep well, Preach?”

“I...” Frisk gave him a long, searching look, before glancing up and back at Papyrus, who was still wrapped around them in a bizarre, spindly hug.

“Might as well come clean, Preach.” He murmured, gently touching Frisk's cheek. Frisk jumped and then looked surprised as he held his hand out to them-- he'd wiped away tears. Frisk checked their cheeks and, yes, they must have been crying.

“I...I had a v-very strange dream.” They whispered, still reeling, the image of the other, smaller Sans still fresh in their memory. “I...dreamed I was d-dead...”

“You? Really?” Sans drawled, sarcastically. “But you're a badass cleric.”

Frisk flushed, embarrassed. “A _p-pacifist_ cleric, remember?”

He continued, as if they hadn't interjected. “And you don't seem to stay dead for long, anyway.”

Frisk blinked. “Y-you _knew_?”

“I guessed.”

Frisk stared at him, wide-eyed. “Y-you ate m-my _arm_.”

“Yeah, but you were so scrawny it turned out to be a mi- _steak_.”

Frisk snorted, charmed despite themselves. The sound woke Papyrus, who nearly strangled them as he tightened his hug. “Good morning, human! I trust you slept well?” He loosened his death grip, instead nuzzling the top of their head with his bony cheek ridges.

Frisk spared a glance at Sans, who shook his head, slowly.

“Ah...y-yes. Thank you.”

“Then you'll be wanting breakfast! I'll make you spaghetti!” Papyrus untangled himself in a flash and leapt gracefully out of the room, skittering down their stairs with unnatural speed. Frisk stretched, wincing as stiff limbs popped and creaked in protest.

Sans looked them over. “When you were sleeping...you called my name.” He muttered, offering Frisk a hand up. They took it, and were easily lifted to their feet. Frisk frowned. “Y-you...you were in m-my dream. But...it wasn't _you_...it was--”

A sudden, sharp pain cut them off, driving them to their knees, clutching at their head, convulsively until everything went dark.

 

 

–

 

 

“ _Oh Frisk, now is **really** not the time for you to start trying to figure things out.”_

In a vast, great darkness, a child stood. Their eyes were dark, empty pits from which ichor wept, steadily, staining their faded green and yellow sweater. The child looked not a million miles away from how Frisk, themselves, had looked when they were young.

“ _Let's try this again, shall we? But this time, no telling that fool anything you **think** you might know, hm?”_

“W-who are you?” Frisk stammered, taking a hesitant step forward.

“ _What did I say about not trying to figure things out, silly?”_ The child raised their hand, idly and Frisk's world was nothing but pain...

 

 

 


	13. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the length of this chapter *really* got away from me. Notes at the end of the chapter, so as not to spoil anything. 
> 
> As usual, this Undertale is inspired by the brilliant AUs of Horrortale and Flowerfell:  
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (And I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

 

Frisk woke with a start, gasping in alarm and jerking forward, only to slam against the tight grip of Papyrus' arms wrapped around them. Frisk looked around, panting, to see a blurry image of Sans sat next to them, eyeing them warily. “Bad dream?”

“W-what do you...” Frisk's breathing slowed as realization dawned. Had that child killed them? Fingers trembling, Frisk reached up to feel their cheek, still wet with the tears caused by their dream.

Sans watched them before reaching out and pinching something on their eyelid. “Ah! Ow! W-why?” Frisk whimpered. Sans frowned. “I don't remember seeing this flower, last night. What happened?”

Frisk put up a hand to bat Sans away and he let the blossom go, much to their relief. They blinked, and blinked again, frowning when they realized that their vision was irrevocably damaged in that eye.

“Preach.” Sans repeated, tapping Frisk on the forehead. “What. Happened?”

Frisk opened their mouth to reply, but a sudden, vivid image of the strange child, their smile gleeful as black ooze rolled from their hollow eyes and down their ruddy cheeks. Frisk shuddered. “I...I c-can't tell you.”

“Can't, or won't?”

“B-b-both?”

Sans gave them a flat look and Frisk ducked their head, guiltily. “I...I'm s-sorry.”

Sans gave them a long, considering glance, but stopped when Papyrus began to stir, once again wrapping Frisk in a death grip upon waking. “Human! Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, Preach...didja?” Sans echoed, flatly.

Frisk squirmed to loosen Papyrus' grip and, thankfully, the taller skeleton seemed to have gotten the hint as he relaxed his stranglehold.

“I...I slept...f-fine.”

“Oh good! Then you'll be wanting breakfast, human! I'll make more spaghetti!” And then, with a burst of energy, Papyrus rocketed off the bed and scrambled down the stairs, giving Frisk an awful case of deja vu.

They stood, shakily, only to tumble to the floor as their vision flickered in their damaged eye. Sans immediately caught them, and pulled them to their feet with a grip of iron.

“Clerics aren't really known for their flair for deception...so quit _lyin'_ around.”

Frisk smiled, weakly, looking down at the floor. “I...I d-don't think I can tell you, Sans.”

Sans caught their chin and locked eyes with Frisk, his one eye glowing like a bright ember. “I know about the resets. Every time you die, you return.” He explained, flatly.

Frisk blinked, and shuffled, uncomfortably in the sight of his scrutiny.

“But...that's not what you're talking about, is it, Preach?”

Frisk sighed, tears welling in their eyes at their frustration. “I...I t-t-tried telling you. S-something... _bad_ happened when I d-did.”

“And this flower...thing?”

“It...it s-seems that a new one s-sprouts every time I...die.”

Frowning, Sans ran his hand over the blossoms. “They look like the sigil of the Yellow God.”

“Y-yes...I thought it was a b-b-lessing but...they _hurt_ and they make me feel...cold.”

Sighing, Sans let go of them, and Frisk nursed life back into their bruised wrist.

“Don't worry, Preach. You don't have to tell me...I'll figure something out.” He offered them a lazy half-smile. “Paps isn't the only one who's good at puzzles.”

Frisk smiled, “W-why are you helping m-me?”

Sans merely shook his head and began heading out of the bedroom. Frisk scrambled to follow, only to crash into Sans' back as he stopped in the doorway. “No lying to me...about anything else, Preach. Swear it.”

“I...I swear.”

“To the Sun.”

“T-to the S-sun.”

 

 

–

 

 

Breakfast was a somewhat awkward affair, and 'Breakfast Pasta' was no less awful than last night's meal had been. Every time Frisk looked up, Sans was staring at them in an intense, unblinking way, as if they actually _were_ a puzzle he was trying to decipher.

Eventually, even Papyrus noticed, as his cheerful chatter about breakfast foods and their recipes trailed off. “Sans...any reason why you're staring at the human like that?”

“Too lazy to blink?”

Papyrus fumed. “You are _such_ a lazybones! Come, human, let us finish up-- I want to show you my patrol.”

Sans tilted his head. “Not sure that's safe, Paps. Pretty much everyone and everything down here is deadly to the Preacher.”

“Nonsense! They can just use their Sun powers! I've seen clerics do that, before-- burns monsters to greasy ash stains in seconds!” Papyrus rebutted, cheerfully, while Frisk turned green.

“Uh...I...I d-don't do that.”

“Then how do you defend yourself, human?”

“With...m-my words?”

“Words of power? Words that explode a monster's head when you speak them?” Papyrus gasped, wide eyed with envy.

“Uh...n-no.”

Sans shrugged, getting up to ruffle Frisk's hair, roughly. “What Preach is _trying_ to say, Paps, is that they're a pacifist.”

“But...that's silly. Everyone I know is a murder machine... _literally_ , in one case!” Papyrus whisked Frisk out of their chair and hugged them, tightly, burying his face in their hair. “The human is so _small_ and squishy-- the monsters outside will tear them to pieces! And eat the pieces!”

Blanching, Frisk gamely patted Papyrus on the arm in a comforting manner. “I...I'm g-getting pretty good at d-dodging?”

“AAAAAAAAAAH! The human is so _brave!_ ” Papyrus hugged them tighter, causing Frisk to wheeze. Sans snorted. “Paps, the monsters outside won't even get a chance to kill the Preacher if you squeeze them to death, first.”

“Oh...yes, right.” Papyrus gently dropped Frisk on top of the table. “Sorry, human. I guess I don't know my own strength.”

“Y-you – _wheeze-_ are very, v-very strong, Papyrus.” Frisk asserted, coughing.

Papyrus beamed, standing so tall that his head bumped against the ceiling. “I am, aren't I?”

Sans, in the meantime, must have gone upstairs, because he now held a thick, leather-bound tome in his hand and was flicking through it, idly. Frisk blinked in confusion-- had they seen Sans leave to get that?

Noticing the scrutiny, Sans grinned, showing off his sharp, over-large teeth, before looking up at Papyrus. “Preach is under house arrest until we figure out what's going on, okay?”

Papyrus frowned, sinking back into a less house-destroying crouch. “But...what will they do all day? Human clerics are not as lazy as you, Sans.” Papyrus gestured, impatiently. “I've read books-- they...uh...give sermons? And...kill monsters?”

He looked down at Frisk, who had carefully hopped off the table. “Human...what _do_ clerics do all day?”

“Oh!” Frisk smiled, surprised. “W-we _do_ give sermons, yes. W-we also serve the villages w-we live in, bringing m-medicine and healing t-to the sick or f-fixing their lights and altars.”

Papyrus tilted his head. “That sounds really important...won't you be missed?”

“Oh, no, I...” Frisk started speaking with confidence, but quickly trailed off into confusion. Why _had_ their order let them go into the Underworld? Dimly, Frisk felt certain that the Order would find their mission of peace with the monsters foolish, if not outright blasphemous. Then...why did they feel so certain that that was what they were supposed to be doing?

A lance of pain shot across their temple, focused on their ruined eye. They clapped a hand over it, sagging as Papyrus easily scooped them back up, murmuring in concern. “Do questions give humans headaches?”

“Maybe. Clerics generally don't lie...maybe deception hurts them.” Sans shrugged, slamming the book closed. Frisk winced at the loud noise and gave him a pained look. Sans stared unflinchingly back. “Either way, my earlier point stands. Preach stays here until we can figure things out.”

“B-b-but...my mission...” Frisk mumbled, weakly.

“Can wait.”

Papyrus shook his head, gently carrying Frisk upstairs. “Normally I'd agree with you, human. It pains me to side with my lazybones brother as he tries to make _you_ be lazy, with him...” He frowned, lifting Frisk up to eye level. “...I'm no expert on humans...but you look terrible.” He nodded, decisively. “I'm putting you back to bed.”

Ignoring Frisk's stammered protests, Papyrus was halfway up the wall in a flash, leaping easily to the second floor and dropping Frisk on the pile of bedding. Frisk let out an 'oof' and made to stand, but Papyrus immediately attacked, wrapping them in blankets until they could no longer move.

“There! Nice and cosy, human!” He patted Frisk on the head, gently, and quickly skittered away.

 

 

\--

 

 

Frisk sighed, struggling in their blanket cocoon. Distantly, they heard Papyrus wishing Sans a nice day before chiding him against indolence. By this point, Frisk had managed to free an arm, but the lingering headache had made it something of a hard-won victory.

Heavy footfalls on the stairs told them, much better than their blurry sight could, that Sans was joining them. Hazily, the skeleton came into view as he ambled over and sat, heavily, atop the bedding, book in hand. “Looking up Red and Yellow God lore for you, Preach.” He explained, easily unwrapping the rest of the tangled blankets for Frisk with his free hand. Frisk shook themselves off, sheepishly.

Sans, still reading, patted the space next to him and Frisk, with a confidence that surprised them, crawled over to sit next to him. Closing their injured eye, they could better make out the text he was reading, but squinting at the letters made their headache worse and they could not hold back the whine that escaped their lips.

Softly, Sans pulled them over to rest their head on his shoulder and began running his hand through their hair and reading aloud, quietly.

 

_“And God saw that the Peoples of the world needed Order, and created the Sun and the Moon. The Sun offered warmth and light, and gave the humans time to live and grow their crops. The Moon offered a time for humans to rest, and gave monsters great energy._

_But a great calamity befell the world, and the place where God rested became empty, leaving only dust behind. The next time the moon arose, it rose as Red as Blood, and the people, Monsters and Humans alike, were changed by its light. The humans became prone to strange illnesses of the body and mind. The monsters became stronger, bathed in the energy of the Blood Moon._

_Over the years, the humans created a church to worship the Sun, which they called the Yellow God-- they named their church the Order, and, through the healing magic they had begged from the Sun, they sought to cure the ills of humanity._

_But the sickness could not be contained and where it spread, the land withered and died. And where the land withered, no crops would grow again. Soon the monsters took it upon themselves to create their own church, following the Red God, and moved across the land when the Blood Moon was high, purging the land of humans whose taint had grown too strong._

_But centuries passed, and the Humans and Monsters forgot their origins as the twin Children of God, and now live in disharmony, as the Order destroys monsters with the Sun's light and Monsters feast upon humans, with abandon.”_

 

Sans sighed, his fingers stilling in Frisk's tangled hair, “But you know all this already, right, Preach?”

Frisk sat in silence, their thoughts reeling. Of _course_ they knew all this...so why did it sound like something they were hearing for the first time. They whimpered, faintly and Sans began stroking their hair, again.

“Well...even if you know it already, lets finish this refresher course...for my sake.” Sans offered, deep voice surprisingly kind. Frisk smiled, faintly. “T-thank you.”

Sans merely began reading again, idly running his fingers through Frisk's hair as he did so. Frisk sighed, body relaxing at the gentle petting and closed their eyes as they listened.

 

_“As the Monsters and the Humans grow father apart, the Sun will sleep for longer each cycle and the Red Moon will grow stronger until, one night, it will never set, at all. Then the sickness will drive the humans to insanity and they will fight the Monsters until both races tear each other apart...and then, the world will end in darkness.”_

 

Frisk gasped, before a strange memory surfaced-- they had heard this before, _definitely_. So why had that just shaken them to their very core? Sans continued reading:

 

_“But God is nothing if not merciful, and it is said that She will send an Angel to redress the balance before the Sun sets for all times. The Angel will look like a human who could belong to any tribe or nation among them, but they will not live under the Sun's light. Instead...instead they will travel beneath the world and give the Sun's light to Monsters, such to renew the world...”_

 

He trailed off, fingers stilling. “That last bit's kinda' apocryphal, Preach. There's supposed to be a bit after, too: something about the Birth of God? But those writings were lost a long time ago. The last human city fell awhile back, and all the libraries that kept records of the prophecies have long since been abandoned.”

He sighed, drumming his fingers thoughtfully against Frisk's head. “...there _might_ be a copy in the King's library...”

Frisk looked up, hopefully, “W-we could go there and f-find out? Learning more about t-this angel sounds important...perhaps...that's why m-my Order agreed to l-let me come down here.”

Sans looked down at them, expression unreadable. “Maybe.”

He put the book down, slowly and looked Frisk over, with that strangely intent expression, as if merely looking at them would solve some great mystery. Frisk looked back, worried and confused. “I...I d-don't know what's happening...b-but, Sans...I know I'm supposed to m-make my way through the Underworld. I'm s-supposed to...make _peace_.” They sighed, rubbing tiredly at their temples. “I don't know h-how, t-though.”

Sans put a hand out, then hesitated. Not entirely sure _why_ they were doing so, Frisk reached out and clasped his hand. He blinked, before curling his fingers around theirs. A pulse of energy, like a shock, rushed between them, visible in the dark room.

Frisk's heart began beating quicker as warmth rushed to their cheeks. Why did they feel so...alive? The headache faded almost instantly and the various aches and pains that had been plaguing Frisk since they reached Snowdin vanished, entirely, leaving behind a tingling sensation of warmth.

Acting more on instinct than any sort of sense, Frisk reached out to hug Sans and was gratified when Sans hugged them back, holding them tightly to his chest. A low, dull pulse reached Frisk's ears in a rhythmic beat. “I...I c-can hear your heat beating?” They asked, confused.

“No, that's my Soul, Preach. Monsters are pretty... _heartless_ , after all.” He murmured, quietly, gently stroking Frisk's back and head. Frisk hummed with amused contentment and buried their face in Sans' sweater. With some trepidation, they reached out to trace the skeleton's ribs beneath his clothing, curious. Sans flinched, but then continued petting them, with a soft growl.

More confident, now, even as they found themselves internally asking what they were doing, here, Frisk began feeling out more of the skeleton's shape, tracing Sans' arms and the curve of his spine. Intrigued, they then pulled up the hem of his sweater-- yes, he was _definitely_ a skeleton, through and through.

Sans snorted, and deftly got his hands under Frisk's own clothing. “H-hey! What are y-you d-doing?”

“Turn about is fair play, Preach. Maybe I wanna' see if I can play _your_ ribs like a xylophone.” He tapped their ribs under the layers of clothing and Frisk giggled, despite themselves. “T-that's...humans d-don't work that way.”

Sans looked amused, then leaned back to pull off his sweater-- underneath, he was a big-boned skeleton and Frisk could see all the way to his spine and the bedroom wall behind him. They ran their fingers quickly down his ribs, giggling. “Ah...y-you don't even make xylophone sounds.”

“Well, I'd make a joke about music not being your _forte_...but that kind of joke always falls _flat_.”

“N-no more music puns...you'll get us in _t-treble._ ”

Sans snorted, and looked Frisk over. “Tit for tat, Preach.” He tugged at the jacket Frisk was wearing and Frisk flushed red. “Ah...o-okay.” They gave him a challenging look, shrugging out of the jacket and quickly pulling their sweater over their head before they lost the nerve.

“Wow, Preach. Skinny as you are, I _might_ be able to play your ribs, after all.”

“C-clerics aren't g-given to indulgence.” Frisk crossed their arms over their chest, defensively.

“Eh, its not so bad. Just shows you have a skeleton inside you.” Sans grinned, widely. “Would you like another?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so, did I pick the best or worst place to end this chapter? Seriously, though, quick poll:
> 
> 1). Do people want this to get more, erm, adult?  
> 2). If so, do people want me to keep Frisk's gender neutral? Or should I pick/describe a sex for the sake of mechanics?  
> 3). If yes to the latter, do you want male or female?
> 
> Answers on a postcard (or, uh, in a comment).
> 
> In the meantime, I will admit to being somewhat inspired by Silent Hill's aesthetic. Horrortale really reminded me of the creatures featured in Silent Hill, especially with all that gorgeously evil artwork. So, yes, you may have noted that I used bits and pieces of the lore from SH1 and 3. Here's a video link in case you're interested:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONLE1ZXe-S8


	14. The Joining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...between this chapter and the last, my laptop died. So this is being done on a rubbish backup laptop--apologies if that causes more typos than usual, but I didn't want to stop updating this! 
> 
> As for the consensus on Adult content, I've decided to continue using Gender Neutral pronouns throughout, but will use female "mechanics" during adult scenes. For those that aren't interested in that sort of thing, I'll demarcate these sections with asterisks. So, for example:
> 
> "Frisk made some toast.
> 
> ***
> 
> ~Sexy~ toast.
> 
> ***
> 
> And then Frisk got some orange juice."
> 
> \--
> 
> So! That's that. In the meantime, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by the amazing AUs Horrortale and Flowerfell:  
> http://horrortale.tumblr.com/  
> https://underfart-snas.tumblr.com/

 

Frisk goggled at Sans. “D-did...did you _really_ say w-what I think you s-said?”

Sans grinned. “C'mon, when else would I get the chance to use that line?”

Frisk laughed, but then flushed a faint pink. “D-did...ah...did you mean it, t-though?”

He blinked, faintly surprised, before leaning over and tapping Frisk's forehead, gently, with his own. “There's something...strange about you. Like Paps, I don't like to leave a mystery unsolved...but for right now, I know that you're kind and funny and surprisingly okay with people who have, in the past, chewed on your severed arm.” He dead-panned the end of the sentence as Frisk snorted.

“So, yes. I meant that.”

Frisk's cheeks coloured all the more and their vision blurred in their injured eye, briefly. Still, the merciful respite from pain their shared touch had caused was, thankfully, persisting. Frisk reached out for him, fingers trembling-

-an image flashed before their eyes.

 

 

_The other Sans holding a hand out, looking embarrassed. “Y-you actually want m-me ta' **dance** with you, s-sweetheart?”_

_They grab his hand, laughing ecstatically. In the distance, a tinkling melody plays and they move to the rhythm. Their enthusiasm startles a laugh out of Sans, who looks alarmed by his own actions. They dance-- **badly** \-- the flowers growing over Frisk's eyes make their coordination poor. Sans eventually takes up the slack, grabbing Frisk and swinging them around. They laugh together, before Sans loses his grip and Frisk falls into his arms, breathless and desperately happy._

 

 

-Frisk blinked rapidly as the vision faded, and then started in surprise as Sans pulled them close, their lips meeting the jagged maw of his skull.

 

 

***********************  
***********************  
***********************

 

 

It shouldn't feel like a kiss, but it lights a fire in the pit of their stomach, all the same. Frisk closes their eyes, murmuring happily as Sans runs his sharp finger tips down their back,sending tremors of pleasure down their spine.

Wanting to reciprocate, Frisk smoothed their hands over every available surface of him, marvelling at the strange heat his bones seemed to emanate. A soft glow began to pulse between them a Frisk pulled back in surprise as they saw a dull, grey light appear, hovering under Sans' ribcage where a human's heart would be. It was heart shaped, but pointed downwards and it flickered with a faint light, like a heartbeat expressed in illumination. Sans followed Frisk's gaze and chuckled-- a low, rough sound. Blood red light flickered over his fingers as he curled them into a fist-- a tight, hot rush flooded Frisk's chest as a cherry-red heart appeared out of their chest, hovering in the air in front of them.

The sight of it beating in time with Sans' white heart made Frisk's skin feel taut and feverish.

“That's _your_ soul, Preacher.”

“H-how did you...?”

“Magic.” He replied, smugly, as dull red veins of energy began to flare out around him, coalescing into thick tendrils of blood red light. Frisk's eyes widened in surprise and they reached out to touch one of them-- the light turned from red to gold at the tip where their finger brushed against it and a jolt of pleasure rushed through them.

Sans breathed, heavily, eyes widening. “Full of surprises, Preach.”

“S-s-so it would seem.” Frisk murmured, softly, gently stroking the tendrils and marvelling as the gold and red intermingled.

Humming in pleasure, Sans grabbed Frisk and pulled them up and onto his lap. He paused, midway and blinked in surprise. He pushed Frisk forwards, running his hand down their back. “What's this, Preach? Another surprise?”

Frisk squirmed, trying to crane their neck to look at their own back. “W-what? I can't s-see my own b-back!”

Sans' voice dipped deeper as he traced patterns on their back. Arcing over Frisk's shoulder blades and down their back were a series of scars, etched into their skin in shimmering, molten gold. “Its like you had _wings_.”

Frisk gasped and made another, game effort to look at their own back, before Sans snorted and pushed their face away. “No snapping your own neck, Preach. I'm not having you die on me-- we'd have to start this whole thing all over again.”

Frisk huffed in annoyance. “At least let me face you, a-again.” Sans laughed and spun them around, depositing Frisk firmly on his lap. “Like this?” He asked, canting their hips forward. Frisk bit their lower lip. “Ah...y-yes...quite.”

Sans laughed in his deep, throaty way that sent another, agreeable shiver down their spine as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Frisk's trousers. Frisk, embarrassed but eager, moved to help him get the rest of their clothes off. Naked, they shivered in the chill of the bedroom, crossing their arms over their chest, suddenly shy in the intensity of Sans' gaze.

“What's wrong, Preach? Worried your holy body will blind a poor sinner like me?”

Frisk laughed and uncrossed their arms to tap their own, ruined eye. “I think t-that might be more my p-p-problem than yours.”

Sans grinned, “So, not worried about getting an _eye-full_?”

Frisk lit up, putting their hands on Sans' hips. “N-nope.”

Laughing, Sans scrambled out of his own trousers and Frisk looked him over,strangely appreciative. They'd never thought that there would be time that they'd find a skeleton anything other than morbid, but strange things were happening and Sans made them feel alive and vital in a way they had thought might not be possible.

More tendrils of blood red light coiled around the two of them as Frisk canted their hips forward. The friction of bone on flesh was rough, but the tendrils of light coalesced around the bone, providing a barrier before Frisk's skin was anything more than abraded. Frisk sighed happily, pressing their lips to Sans' skull, eyes closed with pleasure-- Sans' gripped their shoulders, tightly, the bony digits digging into their flesh. Frisk whimpered, but the sting of pain was oddly pleasurable and they let the golden light of their magic spill out around them in a nimbus, warming the air.

A rush of heat and wetness pooled between their thighs and they arched their back as one of the tendrils of blood red light pushed its way into them, pulsing with heat. More tendrils wrapped around their wrists, pulling their chest up to Sans' and holding them captive. Frisk cried out, breathless, as Sans leaned down to dig his teeth into their shoulder. They moaned in outright ecstasy as the hot rush of their own blood pouring down their shoulder drove them to higher heights of pleasure.

One of the tendrils wrapped around Frisk's neck and squeezed, briefly, causing lights to flash behind their eyes. Sans let go of their shoulder and a tongue, blood red and glowing, appeared in his mouth as he licked the wound clean, leaving faint red scars that felt oddly chill to the touch. Frisk pushed up against him, driving the tendrils within them deeper and together they rocked,desperate to bring their bodies as close as their flesh and bones would allow, cocooning each other in the twinned, glowing auras of their magic. When Frisk came, their body pulled taut, as if struck and their uninjured eye glowed bright and golden, like the noonday sun.

Eventually, the light faded and they collapsed, panting, on Sans' shoulder. Sans laughed, briefly, “Quite the light show, Preach.”

“Oh...I s-saw the l-light, all right.” Frisk managed, wheezing.

As they untangled from each other, Frisk started at the sound of the door opening, downstairs.

 

 

***********************  
***********************  
***********************

 

Frisk sat up, quickly getting dressed as Sans stretched and stood, lazily. “Wonder who that could be? Bit early for Papyrus to be home.”

Frisk looked worried, but straightened out their clothing, standing with a faint wobble. Sans finished dressing, unconcerned, as footsteps sounded on the stairs. A sudden, skittering movement proved that is was, indeed, Papyrus, who looked hyper and panicked.

“Sans! Human!” He skidded into the room, looking between them.

“What is it, Paps?”

“First...hi!” Papyrus grinned, waving cheerfully to Frisk, who waved back, sheepishly. “You look much better, human. I'm so glad! I was worried...I will admit, I have no idea what to do if humans get sick...”

“Put 'em out of their misery?” Sans quipped; Frisk stuck their tongue out at him and Papyrus shook his head, chidingly. “Not funny.”

“Also, not the point.” Sans gestured, impatiently. “What did you come home early for?”

“Oh!” Papyrus immediately sobered, looking worried. “I don't know how...we were very careful, after all...but somehow, Undyne knows that the human is here. They're coming to Snowdin to kill them!”

Sans frowned, deeply. “Of _course_ that psychotic fish would get here before I figured this all out.”

Frisk looked between the two of them, alarmed. “U-undyne?”

“Yes! She's the captain of the Royal Guard, human!” Papyrus explained, skittering back and forth with nervous energy. “She's a powerful warrior-- a brutal killer of monsters and humans alike. She has single-handedly enforced the King's will in the Underworld for years, ripping to shreds anyone or anything that stands in her way.”

Frisk paled.

“Way to break it to the Preach, Paps. Maybe they'll die of fright before Undyne gets here.”

Papyrus looked all the more alarmed and swept Frisk up into his arms, cuddling them. “I _won't_ let that happen!” Frisk felt a flare of warmth as Papyrus hugged them close-- it felt almost exactly like Sans' magic had. They flushed, despite themselves.

Papyrus seemed too worried to notice and began rambling at Sans his various plans for how to keep Frisk safe, some of which sounded more than a little unlikely. Sans cut him off with a raised hand. “I've got a short-cut...it'll get us right outside Hotland. Undyne hates going there. We should be able to bypass her, entirely.”

“...and then what?” Papyrus asked, sounding faintly surprised at Sans' quick answer.

“T-then we...we f-finish my mission.” Frisk piped up, quietly.

Sans frowned, deeply. “We're not even sure what that means, yet, Preach.”

“D-do we have a b-better plan?”

Sans growled, faintly, but eventually gave them both a curt nod. “Lets go, then.” He grabbed Papyrus by the hand. “Don't drop the Preacher, okay?”

“Of course not! I am very care--”

 

-

 

There was a sudden rush of air and bright, red light and then, quite suddenly, the three of them were stood on the far side of a bridge that overlooked a vast waterfall of brightly glowing lava.

Papyrus wobbled, but quickly splayed out his spider-like legs for balance, while Frisk dry heaved, weakly. Sans snorted at the two of them. “Welcome to Hotland.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For people who might have skipped the adult section, two pertinent points were raised:
> 
> 1). When Frisk and Sans' magic interacted, it seemed to have an interesting effect.  
> 2). Frisk was revealed to have a strange pattern of gold scars on their back, reminiscent of how wings might lie.


	15. The Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to assure you all that I'm still here/updating. Things are a little hectic as I still don't have my computer back, but I didn't want to leave anyone in the lurch for too long. ^_^;;
> 
> As usual, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by the excellent AUs of Horortale and Flowerfell:  
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com

 

 

It took Frisk and Papyrus a moment to find their equilibrium-- Sans scanned the surrounding area while Frisk gagged and Papyrus paced back and forth until his spindly legs were balanced firmly beneath him once more.

While Sans kept watch, Frisk began to regain their composure and Papyrus patted them on the back, consolingly. “Are you okay, human? You are making some very strange sounds...”

“Oh...um...j-just a l-little nausea. I'll be f-fine.” Frisk pushed their sweat-damp fringe out of their face, smiling shakily up at the tall skeleton currently bent nearly double so as to look them in the eyes.

“Great, then we should get moving, again. Undyne's not likely to come out here, but that doesn't mean there won't be other monsters about.” Sans growled, tensely, glancing back at the two of them.

Frisk winced, but nodded. Papyrus offered them a long, bony arm to steady them and, together, the three of them made their way through Hotlands. It very much lived up to its name, with the air so close and sweltering that the air shimmered with heat. Like much of the Underworld, it was dark, here, with the only light from the lava flows far below them.

In the far distance, a pillar of dull, red light shone from atop a dry, rocky mountain summit. “W-what's that?” Frisk asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Oh! That's the Core, human-- it makes all of our lights and such work. It is very important.” Papyrus chirped, as Sans snorted, dryly. “Yeah. We'd be...in the dark, without it.” He grinned, as Papyrus rolled his eyes.  "You could say it... _lights_ up our lives."

Looming on the path in front of them was a large, forbidding building with wide, metal doors. Sans paused to glance that way, “That's the Royal Lab...honestly, some of the archives would probably be in there, too. The Royal Scientist was moving stuff there for her experiments.” Sans murmured, almost to himself.

“Meaning?” Papyrus asked, the lights in his eyes blinking on and off in confusion. Sans shrugged. “Its a risk...but I could figure out what's up with the Preacher, here, if I had access to the Royal records.”

Frisk blinked and tried, hopefully, “Is...is t-the Royal S-s-scientist nice?”

Sans grinned. “Nope.”

Frisk's face fell and Papyrus patted them on the head, gingerly. “Then we shouldn't risk it, brother! I don't know Dr. Alphys personally, but Undyne says she's very... _intense_.”

Sans tilts his head. “Yeah, but...what d'ya call a blind dinosaur?”

“Uh...her name?” Papyrus asked, looking blank.

Frisk put a hand up, happily and Sans pointed to them, like an indulgent teacher. “Yes, Preach?”

“D-d-d-o you think he- _saurus_!”

Sans laughed in his harsh, barking way while Papyrus groaned.

“Right in one. I'll sneak in, check the records, and be out again in a flash. Meet me up by the citadel, near the Core.” Sans turned to leave.

Frisk winced. “B-but...you...”

He turned back, grinning. “Don't worry, Preach. Paps here is the most bad-ass monster I know. He'll protect you.”

Papyrus drew himself up to his full height at that, puffing his chest out with pride. Frisk bit their lip, mumbling as Sans walked away. “B-but who will protect _you_?”

 

 

–

 

 

Once out of sight of his brother and Frisk, Sans stepped _between_ space and stepped back out in the cool, dark basement of the Royal Laboratory. The soft, ever-present hum of machinery took him back, momentarily, to the monster he was many years ago, when he, himself, had worked down here. He rubbed a hand, brusquely, over his muzzle and shook his head to clear it. Best to stay focused.

He was fairly sure he could take Alphys out, should she find him down here, but better for Frisk and Paps that he leave no trace, at all. Still, the cold, dark expanse of the basement lab left him feeling unsettled, in a way he couldn't quite put a name to...

 

 

–

 

 

On their own, Frisk and Papyrus made their way across Hotlands, Papyrus happily stooping to take Frisk's hand. He happily pointed out landmarks with great pride in his homeland, but they found themselves forced to stop and hide now and then as other monsters passed by.

Each and ever last creature Frisk spied was horrible and twisted in some way, and when monsters met each other along the way, they hissed and snarled and even occasionally lashed out, violently, at each other. Frisk winced each time, feeling sick and guilty. “I...I s-should be helping t-the monsters...I should b-be doing _something_.”

Papyrus pulled them into a gentler hug than the ones he had tried, before. “I know you like helping people, human, but these monsters would kill you...and then probably eat you.” He explained, as if talking to a small child.

Frisk huffed. “I k-know...but...I'm here t-to bring _peace.”_

Papyrus frowned, thoughtfully. “Well...you made me and my brother very happy. That counts for a lot!”

Frisk smiled up at him, hopefully--

\--and then a spear struck the ground between them, flinging Frisk off their feet, driven backward onto the hard, hot ground with a cry of alarm.

 


	16. The Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright! I got my laptop back! ^_^
> 
> As usual, this fanfic is an Undertale crossover inspired by the brilliant Flowerfell and Horrortale AUs:  
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com

 

 

Dust clouded Frisk's vision as they pushed themselves, unsteadily to their feet. The explosion of the spear's impact had been deafeningly loud, like a crash of thunder to follow the bright lightning of the weapon's glow.

Shaking their head to clear it, they heard sound return--

“Move aside, Papyrus! I _will_ have the human!”

“Undyne, no! This human is not prey-- they're a friend!” Papyrus's cried out, high and desperate. Frisk blinked their good eye, focusing on the tense scene before them. Papyrus was crouched in front of them, legs forming a fence between Frisk and a tall, armour clad woman pointing a glowing, blood red spear at the two of them, threateningly.

Clad in full plate, darkened with copious amounts of ash and blood, she was a terrifying figure-- teeth and scales like a terrible creature of the Abyss. She had gills at the side of her head, like a fish, but blood soaked bandages covered her eyes. Blind as she was, her gills tilted in Frisk's direction and Frisk felt, with awful certainty, that she could _sense_ them, eyes or no eyes.

“You can't be friends with humans, Papyrus.” She drawled, in condescending tones. Without the spear and the teeth-grinding hostility to her posture, the tone was almost one of friendly mocking. Papyrus tensed, but tried again. “But this one is special, Undyne! They like my spaghetti!”

 _This_ did give the horrid creature a brief pause. “Really? And...they're not dead yet?” She threw her head back and laughed, triumphantly. “Wonderful, Papyrus! Move aside! Anyone who can withstand your cooking will be a worthy foe for me, indeed!”

She cackled, manically, drowning out Papyrus' protests. Wincing, Papyrus muttered under his breath, “Um...human? You may have to run.”

“I c-c-can't just leave you here!”

“Oh, no...it will be _fine_ , human! The great Papyrus will give you _plenty_ of time to escape!”

“Like _hell_ you will!” The woman screeched, throwing one of her spears with deadly intent. “I _will_ go _through_ you if you don't move!”

Startled, Papyrus threw his bony arms up quickly as the spear struck against his forearms, leaving behind a charred, dusty smell. Frisk gasped as they saw a small crack splinter across the bones in his arm.

“I'm not going to let you kill the human, Undyne! They're my friend!”

“Then you're a fool!” She chortled, happily, a new spear appearing in her gauntlet clad hand. “That's fine by me, Papyrus! I'll have the human's rib-cage as a fetching hat and your leg bones as new spears!”

That said, she easily hefted the new spear and flung it with alarming speed, followed almost instantly by a volley of smaller spears, each powered by the overwhelming strength of her magic. Frisk ducked, and Papyrus swept out his bony hand-- a wall of glowing, red bones appeared before him-- most of the spears struck the bone-wall and each shattered upon contact with the other, in a shower of bright, red sparks.

Some spears slipped past his defence, however and struck his body, splintering fragments of bone. He wheezed in pain, but seemed ready to fend off another volley.

Alarmed, Frisk moved quicker than they had since dodging the monsters on the way to Snowdin and rolled to their feet, clutching their Sun pendant with one hand, and slamming the flat of their other hand onto Papyrus' back. A bright, golden corona of sunlight surrounded him, briefly and, as it faded, all of his injuries were gone.

“That human is a _cleric!_ ” Undyne shrieked, stomping her foot and summoning dozens of glowing spears around her, like a hovering cloud of malice. “This isn't just stupid, Papyrus-- this is _TREACHERY_!” Her roar shook Frisk to the core, but they kept their fist tightly closed around their pendant, ready to defend Papyrus no matter what.

The battle engaged-- Papyrus was powerful, certainly, but he seemed built more for speed and agility than stamina, and Frisk winced at how often protecting them meant that Papyrus was too slow to dodge Undyne's attacks. Still, the healing magic of the Sun God leveled the playing field, as Frisk doggedly healed every scrape and fracture Undyne's spears caused.

Eventually, perhaps, the two of them would have worn the enraged warrior woman down-- but Papyrus slipped, for just a moment and, laughing triumphantly, Undyne launched a small, but quick spear in Frisk's direction-- it slammed into their leg, piercing straight into one side and out the other, pinning Frisk to the ground. They cried out and quickly clamped their hand to the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

Distracted by their cry, Papyrus had no time to manifest his shield wall of bones, and Undyne's next volley of spears were honing in _far_ too quickly. Thinking fast, Frisk swallowed their mounting terror and yanked the spear from their leg, throwing their body in front of Papyrus--

\--the last thing they felt was a tremendous pain and the last thing they heard was that brash, maniacal laugh as they fell downwards, into darkness...

 

 

 

–

 

 

 

Frisk woke to find themselves flat on their back in long grass. The sun shone, bright and welcoming, high overhead in a beautiful blue sky. Distantly, they heard birdsong--

\--followed by grumbling, stuttering profanity.

Bemused, they sat up to look around them. A grassy slope at the bottom of a great mountain, its summit covered in golden flowers. Nearby, there stood a small cabin. Sat at a table outside the cabin was...Sans.

Frisk blinked. No, this was the... _other_ Sans. The nervously angry smaller one, with the gold tooth. The Sans in the world where the sun always shown and Frisk was...

Well, best not to think about that.

Frisk stood and brushed themselves off, frowning as they remembered the battle Papyrus had been in moments ago-- they could only hope that, when they returned, they could stop that battle from happening again. _If_ they returned.

Rattled, Frisk shook themselves and wandered over to the cabin. Sans was sat at the table, shoulders hunched. The table top was covered with paper-- blue prints, reams of equations-- it all looked rather complicated. So engrossed was he, though, that Frisk managed to come right up behind him and cleared their throat, awkwardly.

“Ah...h-hi.”

He jumped, eye glowing cherry red as he whipped around to face them. “F-f-frisk!” His eye sockets widened and then narrowed, disappointed. “Oh...you're, uh, t-the o-other Frisk.” He murmured, dejectedly.

“W-what are you d-doing here, S-sweetheart?” He drawled. “Beyond t-trying ta' give m-me a fucking heart attack?”

Frisk flushed. “I...I honestly d-don't know.” They shook their head, unhappily and looked down at themselves, starting in faint surprise to see that they were uninjured and wearing their robes, again. They hugged themselves, self-consciously, unhappily aware of the mangled state their body must _actually_ be in at the moment.

Sans snorted. “Y-yeah, thought as much. _My_ Sweetheart, they were a great kid...n-not such a g-great thinker.”

Frisk pouted, and tapped the tabletop. “T-then what's all t-this, Mr. C-clever Bones?”

“A bloody m-mess, _tibia_ honest.”

Frisk giggled, happily. “Oh! Y-you t-tell jokes, _too_!”

“Your Sans is a c-c-comedian, then?”

Frisk nodded, enthusiastically. “Y-you d-don't look _quite_ t-the same, though...lemme' show you?”

Amused, Sans obligingly handed them a pencil and some free paper, though he started, obviously, when their fingers brushed for the briefest moment. Frisk blinked, and blushed, again, before nervously sitting next to this strange Sans.

Sans stared at them, mystified, for a moment before shrugging and returning to his work. Frisk, in the meantime, sketched idly, taking more than a little guilty pleasure in the feeling of being in the warmth, and light-- for once neither cold nor injured.

“H-here...s-s-something like t-this.” They offered, holding out the paper.

 

 

Sans took the paper and stared for a long moment before giving a low whistle. “Man, and h-here I thought _I_ w-was an ugly f-fucker.”

Frisk coloured. “I-I don't know...he...ah...s-sort of g-g-grows on you.” They stammered.

Sans glanced over at them, raising an eye-ridge. “You _like_ y-your Sans, d-don't you?”

Frisk blushed, hotly. “I...you...he...” They gave up, dropping their head on the tabletop and putting their arms over their head.

They peeked out, though, at the raspy sound of Sans' laughter. “T-that...that's just _too_ f-fucking hilarious!” He bit, shaking his head, ruefully. “D-does he know?”

Frisk sat up, blinking. “Well...I rather _hope_ s-so.” They groused, flashing back to that moment in Sans' bedroom, before flushing again. Sans caught their expression and his eyes widened. “Oh, wow, seriously S-sweetheart? You w-work fast.”

Frisk squeaked, indignantly. “Well, w-what about you and--” But they cut themselves off, quickly, clasping their hands over their mouth with a look of apologetic horror.

Sans slumped, slightly. “We...d-didn't really get a chance to g-get too far...” He sighed and rubbed his bony fingers across his face, tiredly. “They got s-sick so _fast_. I...I d-didn't know what t-to do. I _begged_ them to s-stop but they were so d-damned _determined_.” His eye flashed, angrily, before he slumped again, defeated.

“Here's hoping t-this ugly bastard's made of t-tougher shit than I am.” He added, flatly, tapping Frisk's sketch.

Frisk winced, spreading their hands out flat against the tabletop, feeling out the grain of the wood beneath their fingertips. This all felt so _real_. This Sans-- he was no hallucination. But then, neither was _their_ Sans. They shut their eyes, painfully reminded of the fight with Undyne. Papyrus was very real, too, and he needed their help.

Frisk rallied and looked over at Sans' paper, breaking the silence, cautiously. “S-so...what are y-you working on?”

“T-time travel.” He replied, flatly, staring down at his papers with empty eye sockets.

“D-did your Frisk k-keep...resetting? Coming back to life to a p-point before they--”

“--before they d-died, yeah.” He sighed and sat up straight, glancing over at them. “And t-they had a new f-fucking flower each time.”

Frisk ran their hand over their healed face, shaking. “I...t-they're nearly completely over m-my eye, now.” They whispered, eyes welling up with frightened tears, unbidden.

Sans winced and, looking nervous, held his arms out to them. Shaking, Frisk launched themselves forward and allowed Sans to squeeze them tightly to his bony chest. He buried his head in their shoulder and began to cry in great, wracking sobs. Frisk held him back, weeping quietly at the overwhelming depth of his pain. His sorrow seemed infinite and that, at least, was enough to let them rein in their own fear.

“I-I'm s-so sorry, Sweetheart.” They heard him whisper into their shoulder, between sobs. “I c-couldn't save you. I can't d-do _anything_.”

Frisk squeezed him, tight, willing forth the healing light of the Yellow God. In this sunny realm, the power came effortlessly, wrapping them both in a nimbus of healing and warmth. Eventually, his sobbing slowed, and finally faded and he pulled away from Frisk, wiping his face, brusquely.

“I'm g-gonna' figure this out, I p-promise you.” He said, voice rough through gritted teeth. “I'm g-getting them _back._ I'm gonna' _f-fix_ this.”

He slammed his fist down on the tabletop, eye blazing as red as the heart of an inferno. Frisk nodded, at a loss for words. Suddenly, a wave of pain crashed into them and the light went out, throwing them back into darkness and--

 

 

 

–

 

 

They awoke in murky darkness. “And you can see the Core from here, too-- look, human!” Papyrus called, cheerfully clapping them on the back and sending them stumbling. Frisk staggered back to their feet and looked around, wildly. Half of their face felt oddly cold and numb. They raised their hand to their eyes, fingers trembling. A new blossom grew from their eye, now, its roots pinning the lid shut. Frisk tugged at the stems in a sudden fit of panic and cry out, weakly, as pain lanced through their skull.

Their vision blurry, they saw Papyrus drop down to their side. “Human! What is wrong?”

They tried to calm down, but couldn't, their breathing coming fast and shallow, Papyrus' words sounding strangely distant. They clawed, futilely at the blossoms on their face. “M-my _eye_!” They eventually wailed, through panicked panting.

They felt a hot wetness running down their cheeks and realised, distantly, that their frenzied pulling at the flowers must have torn their eyelid open. Suddenly, Papyrus' hand clasped around theirs like a vice, pulling their fingers away from the blossoms.

Dimly, they saw Papyrus examining their bloody fingertips in concern, before he reached out with his free hand to gingerly poke the flowers over their eye. “Did you always have...this many flowers, human?” He asked, his voice soft with concerned confusion.

Frisk broke entirely, then, breaking down into panicked tears. Papyrus whisked them up, making nonsense noises in soothing tones, backing away from the road through the Hotlands. “We should...get somewhere safe.” He said, uncertainly. “Ah! Sans' guard post!”

He dashed along, keeping low to the ground, Frisk weeping in his arms. When he finally put Frisk down, they looked around, trying to catch their breath, desperate to calm down. They seemed to be in a guard house of some sort...

Frisk whimpered and clutched at the sun pendant around their neck, the golden points digging into the flesh of their palm. “W-why are you doing t-this to me?” They whimpered to the Yellow God, softly.

Papyrus stroked their head, still making soothing sounds. “...don't worry, human! We will figure something out, I know we will. My brother has gone to find records...perhaps they will explain your weird flower things, too.”

He seemed confused, still, but rallied. “Yes! Of course he will. My brother will figure out how to cure this! And I, the Great Papyrus, will scour the _entire_ Underworld to get the cure's ingredients, never fear!”

Frisk coughed, taking great, steadying breaths. “I...I'm s-so sorry, Papyrus. I...I d-don't know what came over me.” They managed, grip relaxing on the pendant as they closed their one, working eye and leaned back to find comfort in the repetitive motions of Papyrus gently stroking their hair.

“Don't worry, human! You were sick. Everyone gets upset when they're sick-- well, except me. _I_ haven't been ill since I was a baby bones.” He added, proudly, before pulling Frisk back onto his lap and wrapping his legs around them like a spindly cage in a bizarre kind of hug.

“Don't worry...I won't let anyone hurt you.” He snuggled Frisk tightly, rubbing his chin against the top of their head. Frisk sighed and let themselves relax, for a moment as Papyrus held them close until their breathing returned, entirely, to normal.

“T-thank you, Papyrus. You're...you're a w-wonderful person.” They whispered, stroking Papyrus' arm, gently. They could practically _feel_ the wave of pleasure that sent through him. “Ah! Human! You are too kind!” He cheered, snuggling them again.

“But...we should get going, shouldn't we? Sans is meeting us at the Core.”

Frisk nodded, frowning. “But...P-papyrus?” They craned their neck to look back at him. “Undyne is g-going to ambush us on the road.”

“Really? How do you know that?” His eyes widened in surprise.

“Ah...human intuition?” Frisk offered, lamely.

Still, Papyrus looked quite impressed. “Wowie! Truly, the powers of human clerics _are_ amazing.”

“Uh...y-yes?” Frisk managed, running a gentle hand over their injured eye and forcing healing into the wound they had caused themselves. A spark of golden light flickered over their eyelid and they felt the wound heal as Papyrus cooed, excitedly.

Still, the eye remained firmly shut and Frisk winced, hearing the other Sans' voice in their head, faltering as he described how _sick_ his Frisk had become.

'This is only going to get worse, isn't it?' Frisk thought, frowning. They jumped as a high-pitched chorus of laughter echoed in their head. Papyrus, misjudging their action, quickly snatched Frisk's fingers in another vise-like grip. “No! No more hurting yourself, human.”

Frisk blushed, sheepishly. “Oh...n-no...you're right. I'll...s-stop right now.” They couldn't help but smile at Papyrus' happy grin and whooped, giddily as Papyrus swept them up, again, tossing them easily in the air and catching them.

They giggled, despite themselves and Papyrus leaned forward to press a brief, excited kiss on their forehead. “You...you have to be careful, human.” He stammered, a blood-red glow coming up over his cheekbones. “I...I'd be worried if anything were to happen to you.” He added, voice surprisingly low.

Frisk's eye widened as a flush swept across their cheeks. “I...you too, Papyrus.” They replied, feelingly, putting a hand up to his face.

They stayed like that for a moment before Papyrus shook himself like a great spider-dog hybrid and loped off, Frisk still in his arms.

“R-remember the ambush!” Frisk added, with a sheepish cough.

“Right you are!” Papyrus chimed in cheerfully as he dropped, quickly to a low crouch and crept, quickly but silently through the Hotlands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, yes, here's a link to the "pretty", coloured version of Frisk's sketch: https://www.patreon.com/posts/ht-sans-5765972


	17. The Concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter to prove that I'm still here! O_O
> 
> As usual, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by the brilliant AUs of Flowerfell and Horrortale:  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com  
> horrortale.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

 

Down in the basement of the Royal Science Lab, flickering monitors provided the only illumination as Sans crept through the halls, stopping now and then to look inside abandoned rooms, their contents obscured under a thick layer of dust and neglect. He'd heard that the new Royal Scientist, Dr. Alphys, had abandoned the projects left by her predecessor, but Sans couldn't help but think that this scene of neglect was somehow...disappointing.

He ran a bony digit, idly, over a steel table in a darkened operating room and frowned at the dust that came away from it. The air here smelled stale and the only sound as he moved through the darkness were his own shoes clicking on the tiled floor.

Eventually, he came to the stairwell that would lead him upstairs to the main laboratory. Light spilled down from an open door, above and distant sounds of whirring blades and worryingly organic noises made him pause, flattening himself against the wall to avoid being seen.

A high, crackling voice was rambling upstairs—it sounded like someone talking to themselves and Sans recognised the voice as Dr. Alphys'. He sighed and crept back, further into the darkness. Best to keep checking downstairs-- if the records were upstairs, that would mean having to explain his presence to Dr. Alphys and that would be...awkward.

Turning quickly, he began reading old signs to try and get a better idea of where to go—one of the more damaged signs caught his eye:

**(Author's note: Originally, there was a bit of WingDings here that said "Dr. Gaster- Do not enter".  Due to the way it buggered my formatting, I've had to remove it.  Please accept my humble apologies and imagine the WingDings that _should_ have gone here.)**

****

Surprised, he stopped and ran his fingers over the raised symbols. “Dr...Gaster?” He murmured, confused. The name seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't think why. Nor, really, was he sure when he'd learned whatever this strange code was.

 

“Do not enter, huh?” He smirked and tried the doorknob-- the door swung open, quietly. “Never was good at following instructions.” He growled, heading quickly inside and closing the door behind him.

 

–

 

Their second trip through the Hotlands was a much tenser endeavour than it had been last time, with both Frisk and Papyrus constantly checking around them for signs of an imminent attack. Their paranoia paid off by letting them spot all the local monsters and easily avoid them but, when they reached the spot where the spear had struck the ground before, Frisk grew concerned.

 

“I...I d-don't see her.” They murmured, worriedly. “Me neither, human! And I even know what she's meant to look like!” Papyrus piped up, clicking his teeth together.

 

“Maybe she's...n-nearby?” Frisk offered, biting their lower lip, not keen on encountering the fearsome warrior again. Papyrus nodded, slowly. “I am much quieter than you, human. You hide here-- I will do reconnaissance!” He stage-whispered, dramatically.

 

Frisk nodded, still decidedly unsettled, but aware that Papyrus probably wouldn't draw Undyne's ire on his own. Papyrus gingerly put them down behind an assortment of rocks and quickly scuttled out, moving low to the ground in a slinking, predatory manner, occasionally scaling walls to ensure the quickest path along the road.

 

He hadn't been wrong-- without Frisk in his arms to slow him down, he moved like a skeletal shadow, and was quickly out of sight. Frisk sighed. “H-he'll be okay.” They assured themselves, closing their eyes and grasping their pendant, tightly.

 

“Oh, darling. I'm sure he will. But will you?”

 

Frisk looked up, startled, to see a tall, lanky figure stepping out from the shadows. Shining and graceful, the creature looked like a beautiful, metallic ideal of human form. Black hair flopped over one side of its face, and a glowing red eye gleamed from the other side. Here and there, metallic sections betrayed the creature as some strange, mechanical monster and the fact that, when it revealed itself, fully, one of its arms appeared to end in a chainsaw, rather put Frisk on the back foot.

 

They quickly scrambled to face the creature, stammering in incoherent panic.

 

“Use your words, darling.” It hummed patiently in a soft, melodic voice that betrayed a faint, metallic edge. It rested its non-chainsaw hand on its hips, tapping a foot. Frisk took the bizarrely pretty image in front of them in for a moment, regaining control of their breathing.

 

“Ah...m-my apologies. M-my name is F-frisk. Who...who d-do I have the p-p-pleasure of addressing?” They managed, bowing politely.

 

The creature blinked, eyelashes fluttering in surprise. It smiled, looking charmed. “My, my! The human has manners-- how lovely.” It held its hand out to them, its fingers perfectly lacquered from metal and porcelain.

 

A little nervously, given what had happened the last time Frisk had shaken anyone's hand, they held their own hand out and were infinitely relieved when nothing worse than a very firm and vigorous handshake occurred. “My name is Metaton, darling-- and I'm sure it _is_ an absolute pleasure to meet me.”

The creature gave a soft, musical giggle at that, but the tone of voice was undeniably male. Frisk blinked in mild surprise. “It...its v-very nice to meet you.”

 

“Of course it is, darling! Everyone who meets me, loves me. I can't help being this fabulous!” He let go of their hand and posed, dramatically. “After all, I was _designed_ to be the shining star of the Underworld.” He sang the last part, his robotic nature making the sounds distort in a strangely pleasing manner.

 

Frisk applauded and the robot looked surprised, again, before sweeping a graceful bow. “My, my! We _are_ having a dilemna, here, darling-- see, Dr. Alphys sent me to capture you...but how can I do something so cruel to a _fan_?!”

 

Frisk goggled and quickly scrambled for a response. “Um, well...you c-can't?”

 

Metaton tilted his head, quizzically. “No, darling...pretty sure I was supposed to.”

 

“B-b-but I should hear more of your excellent s-singing first, shouldn't I?” Frisk shot back, flailing slightly.

 

Metaton suddenly beamed, throwing his hand up for another dramatic pose as his magic flared around him in a shower of glittering sparks. “You're absolutely _right_ , darling! What sort of performer would I be if I sent you to be dissected without a _song_?”

 

Frisk paled at the idea of being dissected, but rallied quickly, nodding fervently. “Y-yes, please-- I'd _love_ to hear you p-perform.” They managed, faintly.

 

Cheering, Metaton bounced in the air. “Oh, of _course_!” The pointed imperiously at a nearby rock. “You! Sit there-- I just need to get ready.”

 

Moving carefully, Frisk sat on the flat rock nearby, internally panicking. When would Papyrus get back? Had he run into Undyne alone? What if he got back and Metaton just attacked him?

 

But all their concerns were cut short when Mettaton began to sing. His voice rang out, strangely robotic but powerful-- he provided his own back up, his voice layering over itself like a metallic waterfall. The song wasn't one Frisk had heard before-- the lyrics were dark and frightening, but Mettaton sang them with such bright, apparent joy that Frisk couldn't help but be swept up in the sentiment, clutching their hands over their heart in rapture.

 

So swept up were they that it took them awhile to realise that other monsters had joined them, drawn to the sound of Mettaton's performance. Frisk jumped in fear, but that fear quickly turned to silent awe as the monsters didn't attack, but merely found places to sit and listen to Mettaton's song.

 

Mettaton seemed, if anything, spurred on to new heights by the idea of an audience and, soon enough, the crowd was swaying along to the beautiful music. As the song drew to a close, Mettaton looked around at his gathered crowd and, with a look of mischievous joy, he gestured for Frisk to join him. They quickly scrambled to his side, painfully aware of the sudden scrutiny of the monsters around them.

 

“Sing with me, Darling!” Metatton offered, pulling a microphone from somewhere inside his shining chassis. Surprised, Frisk took the microphone with trembling fingers. “A-all I know are h-h-hymns.” They stammered, wide-eyed. Metatton tilted his head, curiously. “I can follow if you lead, darling—I _am_ amazing, you know.”

 

He clapped a firm hand on their shoulder. “Come now, darling! No disappointing our fans!”

 

Frisk nodded, somewhat uncertainly, and held the microphone up in front of them, hands shaking. Voice trembling, they called up the memory of the sun's warmth and light and began to sing, voice trembling at first, but gaining strength as they continued. A hush fell over the crowd of monsters as a soft, golden light began to glow from the centre of Frisk's chest, emancipating outward in beautiful glowing waves. As their first rendition of the song wound to a close, they looked up to see Metatton looking down at them, red eyes brimming with tears.

 

“Sing it again, darling...I want to join you.” He whispered, voice quiet with awe. Frisk nodded and began again, lighting up brightly as Metatton's voice joined theirs creating an otherworldly harmony. The golden light spilled out all around them and filled the dimly lit chamber, washing all of the monsters gathered in gentle, healing light.

 

When the song reached its crescendo, Frisk held their hand out to Metatton who took it happily, tears streaming down his lacquered face. Other monsters had begun to hum along, swaying and holding onto each other, all anger and discontent with each other laid aside in the wake of the melody.

 

When the song finally ended, the light was slow to fade and, miraculously, the monsters that had gathered left quietly, leaving each other and Frisk unharmed. Soon, the clearing was empty once more and Frisk and Mettaton stood alone, the red sparks of Mettaton's magic mixing with the bright, golden sparkles of Frisk's light. They watched the lights until they faded and Metatton sighed, letting go of Frisk's hand to wipe away his tears.

 

“I didn't find you here, darling.” Metatton murmured, softly, looking past Frisk. They stood straighter and turned, not meeting Frisk's questioning gaze. “Move quickly...and don't let me see you again.”

 

Frisk put out a hand, hesitantly, but Metatton was already walking decisively away. “If I _do_ see you again, darling...I'll make it a merciful death.” They added, before disappearing back into the shadows.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the song I had in mind as "Frisk's Song" was this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzlYsDpYvfY
> 
> ADDENDA: Apologies for any spelling errors you might find-- I was forced to grab an earlier version of the work, as the WingDings in the story made the chapter cut off, abruptly. So I went back and fixed it, pasting in the older version of the passage.


	18. The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more things are uncovered...
> 
> As always, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by the brilliant AUs of Flowerfell and Horrortale:  
> Flowerfell: underfart-snas.tumblr.com  
> Horrortale: horrortale.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

Pushing the door open, Sans found himself in a large room, dimly lit with a familiar, blood red glow. The pure, pulsing light of the Red God suffused the gloom, and his eyes, accustomed to the dim, adjusted quickly to take in the strange sights before him.

A laboratory of sorts, but any approach to science was quickly marred by complex magical arrays. Truly, it looked not unlike an alchemist and an occultist had gone head-to-head and...

Sans leaned down to pick up a large fragment of glass from a broken beaker. “--there were no survivors.” He muttered, pensively to himself. The center of the room looked like a blast zone, with a ring of shattered glass rounded off with deep, black scorch marks cutting deep, jagged grooves into the floor.

He knelt down to get a closer look, running a clawed finger bone across the floor-- he examined the black soot on his fingertip and frowned at the scent. “Monster dust.” A shimmer of light caught his eye and he tilted his head to see how, even now, the center of the blast held remnants of some _huge_ , complex mystical array, filled with strange symbols. It was, of course, woefully marred by whatever catastrophe had happened here but, for reasons he could not even begin to fathom, the longer he studied it, the more he began to get an idea of what should lie in the spaces between.

Shaking his head in confusion, he grabbed a sheet of paper from one of the desks and began to quickly sketch out the pattern, eye glowing brightly with intense concentration, his original purpose for coming here forgotten.

 

–

 

As the strange, mechanical homunculus with the voice of an angel disappeared back into the darkness from which he came, Frisk felt their strength leave them and suddenly sank to the floor, legs shaking. Was it fear? Or was the weight of their journey finally getting to them? They sighed, pushing back damp, sweaty hair, their fingers briefly brushing against the cold blossoms around their ruined eye. They shuddered, despite themselves, but forced themselves back to their feet.

Papyrus wasn't back yet, and it was starting to concern them. The fear of being attacked _might_ be looming around every corner, but hadn't they come down here to bring peace to monster-kind? Shouldn't that mean that they made every effort to persevere?

They found themselves idly stroking the blossoms again and sighed. Perhaps the Yellow God was testing them. They quickly dropped their hand to the golden symbol around their neck, clutching it tightly, feeling the warmth emanating from within as their resolve strengthened once more.

With a tentative smile (and possibly the beginnings of a fever), Frisk cautiously started out to find their strange, new friend.

 

–

 

The pattern was coming together, he was sure of it. Around him, the room seemed to darken and lighten in a strange, pulsing manner but he barely noticed, so intently was he focused on figuring out this strange, dark puzzle.

The bright, red glow from his eye provided all the illumination he needed and, with a sudden flourish, he found that the image on his paper was complete. He stared at the completed circle, confused.

 

“What...what is this?” He growled softly, before a lance of agonizing pain shot through his skull, over the eye socket that he had never managed to make glow.

 

–

 

The light was bright in the lab, and Sans shielded his eyes as he entered. “Bloody fucking _moon_ , Winding-- what's with the light show?”

The much taller skeleton whirled around, startled.

?￢ﾜﾌ☠?￰ﾟﾓﾪ ?￢ﾘﾟ✌❄ ✌☼☜ ✡⚐? ?￢ﾚﾐ✋☠☝ ☟☜☼☜ ❄☟✋?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￰ﾟﾓﾬ☜✌☼☹✡✍ ✋? ✋❄ ☜✌☼☹✡✍ He asked, blinking over the tops of crooked spectacles.

Sans laughed, a sharp bark, eyes still shielded from the glow. “You're damn right its early...its also Tuesday, but I guess you didn't know that, either.”

The taller skeleton removed his spectacles, a soft, red glow coming up over the high planes of his cheekbones. ✋?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￢ﾜﾌ☟?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￢ﾘﾹ⚐?￢ﾝﾄ ❄☼✌?￰ﾟﾘﾐ ⚐☞ ❄✋?￢ﾘﾜ?

Sans shook his head, ruefully. “The light?”

Straightening to his full height, the taller skeleton grinned, ecstatically.⚐☟✏ ✡☜?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￢ﾜﾌ☠?￰ﾟﾓﾪ ✋?￢ﾜﾞ☜ ?￢ﾚﾐ☠☜ ✋❄✏ ✋?￢ﾜﾞ☜ ?￢ﾜﾌ?￢ﾝﾄ?￢ﾘﾼ☜? ❄☟☜ ?￰ﾟﾕﾆ☼☜ ☜?￰ﾟﾒﾧ☜☠?￢ﾘﾜ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜ ✡☜☹☹⚐? ☝⚐?￢ﾜﾏ

Sans goggled, lowering his hand, slowly to try and peer into the source of the blinding light. “Holy Asgore...you  _did_ , you crazy bastard.”

At the center of the room, pulsing strongly, was a being of warm, golden light. Vaguely humanoid in its form, the warmth it emanated only grew stronger as Sans tentatively stepped forward. The taller skeleton quickly slammed and arm across Sans' chest, blocking him from coming any closer.

☠⚐✏ ❄☟☜ ☹✋☝☟❄?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￢ﾜﾋ ?￢ﾘﾠ⚐? ✋❄? ?￢ﾚﾐ?￰ﾟﾏﾱ☜☹☹✋☠☝ ?￰ﾟﾕﾆ❄ ✋❄?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￢ﾜﾋ❄ ?￰ﾟﾕﾆ☼☠?￰ﾟﾓﾪ ?￰ﾟﾏﾱ ?￢ﾘﾹ⚐?￢ﾘﾜ? He explained, looking pained. ✋?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￢ﾜﾋ ☹⚐?￢ﾝﾄ ❄☟☼☜☜ ✌?￰ﾟﾒﾧ✋?￢ﾝﾄ✌☠❄? ☞✋☠?￢ﾜﾋ☠☝ ❄☟✌❄ ⚐?￢ﾝﾄ?￢ﾜﾋ ?￢ﾚﾐ☠?￢ﾝﾄ ☹⚐?￢ﾘﾜ ✡⚐?￰ﾟﾓﾪ ❄⚐⚐?

Sans blanched, but looked down to where Winding's hand held him back-- the bony appendage was wrapped in dusty bandages. “...what happened to  _you_ , though?”

Windings sighed and made to snatch back his hand, but Sans had always been faster than his bulky frame let on. He grabbed Winding's arm in a vice-like grip and undid the bandages while the taller skeleton looked away, frowning.

“Holy...there's a fucking  _hole_  in your hand!”

Winding looked back down at him with that, flatly. ❄☟✌☠? ✡⚐? ☞⚐☼ ?￢ﾝﾄ✌❄✋☠☝ ❄☟☜ ⚐?￢ﾜﾞ✋⚐?￰ﾟﾒﾧ? ?￢ﾜﾌ☠?￰ﾟﾓﾬ?￰ﾟﾓﾬ✋ ☟✌?￢ﾘﾠ?￢ﾝﾄ ☠⚐❄✋?￢ﾘﾜ?￰ﾟﾓﾬ

“Don't give me that crap.” Sans growled, eyes narrowing. As he spoke, the golden light in the center of the room began to flash, erratically. Winding whipped around, alarmed. ?￢ﾘﾟ✌❄✍ ❄☟☜ ?￢ﾚﾐ☠❄✌✋☠?￢ﾘﾜ☠❄ ☞✋☜☹? ?￢ﾘﾟ⚐?￢ﾘﾹ? ☟⚐☹?￢ﾜﾏ ?￢ﾘﾟ✌❄ ✌? ✋ ?￢ﾜﾋ?￰ﾟﾒﾧ✋☠☝✍

He began to dash forward and Sans grabbed him by the back of his long, black robes, looking down at the floor in horror-- a complex magical array was there. He'd only ever seen its like in texts about the surface-- a holy symbol for the Order, the Halo of the Sun. But it was fracturing and he had a pretty good idea of what would happen when it fell.

Ignoring Winding's protests, he dragged the taller skeleton back, racing out of the room and slamming the door behind them as the light exploded outwards, filling the lab with bright, holy fire.

  
  


–

 

The pain subsided as Sans found himself alone, once more, in the ruined laboratory, the paper still in his hand. His fingers shook, uncharacteristically and he gaped into the darkness for a long moment, before looking down at the paper once more, focusing on the strange, triangle like symbol in the center of his scribbles. “That was what was missing the first time...but what is it? And what...what happened to Gaster?”

Only silence answered him and he growled, annoyed, before getting up and beginning to search through the ruined lab hoping something down there in the strange, forgotten wreckage would tell him more about this mystery.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I got the image from: http://evil.wikia.com/wiki/File:The_Halo_of_the_Sun_%26_the_Seal_of_Metatron.jpg
> 
> Yes, its a Silent Hill reference. I should probably see about tagging that...
> 
> Also, on an entirely OOC note, if you're not on my Tumblr, you won't know that the lag between chapters has been due to me being in the hospital. Gallstones are a bastard and the ward I was in didn't have wi-fi. There may be another lag when I go back to have my gallbladder removed but, hopefully, it won't be a long one. Thanks for your patience!


	19. The Cataclysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? What is this madness?
> 
> I'd like to point that there's a certain section of dialogue that I had *way* too much fun writing. Also, I've updated the tags to include Silent Hill 3, since I've been referencing it so much.
> 
> As usual, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by the brilliant AUs of Flowerfell and Horrortale:  
> Flowerfell: underfart-snas.tumblr.com  
> Horrortale: horrortale.tumblr.com
> 
> (And I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

Papyrus had been scouting ahead in the Hotlands with relative ease. The way was mostly clear, and seemed to clear all the more at one point, as monsters had been drawn away from the open areas around the path by a strange music in the distance-- indeed, Papyrus nearly followed the sound, himself, but managed to keep himself focused on the task. This was important! This was helping his human friend!

He had spotted a lot of strange sigils high up on the cavern walls and ceilings as he scuttled quickly past, but they seemed...weird, in the way that some of the books his brother kept in the house were weird. Lazy Sans! If only he'd spend more time doing something _active_ , instead of reading those dusty books. Still, the sigils seemed new to him, so he made a point of remembering them, to tell Sans about, later. All that book reading had better be good for _something_.

There seemed to be two paths that would take them where they wanted to go-- one of them was through Muffet's domain, though, and he doubted her spiders would want to do anything other than wrap his human up and suck their juices out over an agonizing span of days. Muffet had always been voracious, even by monster standards.

The other path was absolutely _crammed_ with exciting puzzles, though and Papyrus itched to complete them, himself, marveling at their complexity and all of the sharp, whirling blades. But, no, it wouldn't be fair to his human friend if he did all the puzzles, himself, and left nothing for them to play with. Pleased with his discoveries, he began racing back along the walls, nearly vibrating with excitement-

–only to have to throw himself quickly to the ground as a blazing spear of light went whooshing over his head.

He was upright in a flash, limbs clacking as he crouched, feral, near to the ground, ready to spring at his attacker at a moment's notice.

Said attacker laughed, loudly and somewhat manically and he straightened, feeling sheepish. “Undyne?”

The armored fish woman grinned, happily at him, waving another spear around her head, energetically. “Papyrus! Have I got _great_ news for you!”

“I don't know...do you?” He blinked, approaching her in amicable confusion. Undyne was the Captain of the Royal Guard and, outside his brother, probably his best friend in the whole Underworld. It was too bad, he mentally added, that her manic rages made her a little...hard to predict.

She slammed her energy spear into the ground, dramatically, and Papyrus nimbly hopped back as it shattered into hundreds of tiny, sharp red shards.

“We found a human! Here! In the _Underworld_!” She cackled. “Can you believe it? They must be a complete _badass_ to make it this far, too. I bet they're a mass murderer up on the surface.” She cooed, rubbing her gauntlets together, gleefully.

Papyrus struggled to imagine their new human friend killing _anything_ and failed, utterly. “I...see?” He managed, awkwardly.

“How the hell did they get past you, man? You're my guard-guy! Are you slipping or something?” She added, leaning forward to poke him in the chest, accusingly.

He colored, drawing himself up to his full height, which left Undyne to poke him, awkwardly, in the spine, instead, as he towered over her.

“I would _never_! The great Papyrus takes his job _very_ seriously!”

“Is that so?” Her voice suddenly dropped a few octaves as her smile grew sly. “Then what do you have to say about _this?_ ”

She thrust out a hand to reveal a small, red glass orb with more of Sans' weird symbols on it. Papyrus craned his neck to look down at it, blankly.

“Its...pretty?” He offered.

“ARGH! No!” Undyne smacked the ball with her fist, swearing under her breath. “Its supposed to _do_ something, you numb-skull!” She continued to froth at it, until she bit her own lip in frustration and the blood dropped onto the orb where, to both of their surprise, it suddenly flared into life, showing a tiny image of...

“The human!” Undyne crowed, triumphantly, holding the orb up over her head in a game attempt to thrust it in Papyrus' face. Taking pity on his friend, Papyrus hunched until they shared an eye-line and peered into the orb where there was, indeed, a tiny Frisk surrounded by a group of monsters, singing with a strange, metal covered monster that looked almost like a human.

“That...is very strange. Are they trapped in there?” Papyrus squeaked, trying hard to keep his sudden concern for Frisk out of his voice.

“What? NO! Idiot.” Undyne snorted, happily leaving out the fact that, when this orb was first shown to her, she had thought much the same. “This is one of Dr. Alphys' arcane devices! It lets you see things from far away. I think you can hear things, too, but I forgo-”

She cut herself off, coloring under her blood stained bandages. “-don't _feel_ like doing that.”

Papyrus nodded, sagely. An angry Undyne was a dangerous one, and insatiable once she was on the trail of prey. More than once he'd seen her tear a human's spine clean from their body, in her continued desire to collect as many human bones as possible for weapons and armor and, occasionally, house décor.

“That's a human, though!” Undyne rallied, jabbing the sphere and grinning. “Why not come kill it with me? It has strange magic, so it should be a formidable foe, indeed!”

Papyrus winced above her head as he tried to think, quickly. Undyne was blind, but her other senses were uncanny. If he fled, now, she'd give chase and he'd lead her right back to Frisk. But talking her out of a hunt was nigh-to-impossible.

“Perhaps...we wait until the human comes to us?” He offered, hoping to stall for time. “We could make a trap for them.”

“Bah! You and your puzzles!” she slapped him in the ribs, laughing. “Think with your bones, not with your skull!”

“...what?” He managed, perplexed. This only made her laugh, harder.

“No, my friend, we do this the old way! Magic, mayhem and murder!” She began to stride away, humming. “Dibs on its bones!"

Papyrus winced, tensing. He couldn't let Undyne hurt his human friend, but deterring her from the hunt didn't seem likely. He sighed, uncharacteristically pensive for a moment. He'd never seen the fun in hunting innocents and, when hunting on the Surface, had always gone for the humans most steeped in the scent of sin- quick, brutal deaths. He liked the taste of human blood as much as the next monster, certainly, but he'd never seen the point in toying with them.

Undyne's trophy collecting seemed...unpleasant to him, somehow. He'd never gone after children, either, despite monsters like Muffet assuring him that their flesh was the softest, and their unsullied blood the sweetest. He'd wondered, now and then, if there was something lacking in him- certainly he had seen Sans take more pleasure in the sport of the hunt; his brother, however quiet, had in him a dark well of anger that showed itself in the creative cruelty of his killing. He'd gained his love of puzzles from watching the complex “justice” Sans eked out on those humans so debased as to draw their attention.

A few times, Sans had even rendered their corpses inedible in that anger...but the one thing Papyrus had always appreciated was that Sans would never attack someone Papyrus asked him not to. Luckily, they tended to hunt sinners exclusively, so it was rare that he had to ask...

...and wasn't that why he'd told himself he hadn't attacked Frisk? There had been something in the way Sans looked at the tiny cleric that had given him pause. Sans was not one for undue cruelty...but neither was he one for mercy. Why, then, had Frisk been any different?

He shook himself and frowned. If he was being completely honest, he would have never attacked Frisk, anyway. The human was a _true_ innocent, their blood completely unsullied by sin. Honestly, not even most _children_ were so pure.

And besides...he liked them.

Nodding firmly to himself, he scrambled to catch up with Undyne. He'd have to dissuade her...one way or another.

 

 

–

 

 

Rifling through Dr. Gaster's papers was proving to be a nightmare, with the silent gloom of the laboratory punctuated now and then by the muffled ramblings from Dr. Alphys upstairs. The notes were burned, torn and otherwise scattered in all directions, and covered in a thick layer of dust, besides. Why, Sans wondered, hadn't Alphys come down here, herself? Surely she would have seen the worth of these notes- he was something of a hobbyist in the field, himself, but even _he_ could see the brilliance of the works gathered here.

...Or was he a mere hobbyist? He grimaced at the strange headache and the memory it had produced. Thinking of it, he'd _always_ been good at the sciences, ever since he an Paps had come to Snowdin. He winced at a ghost of pain. When _had_ they moved to Snowdin? And where had they moved _from?_

He'd always been privately confused as to why there weren't more skeletons like him and Papyrus but that memory suggested that there had been at least _one_ more. He punched the wall, grumpily, as things refused to make themselves any clearer to him, and was amused when this resulted in a wad of papers cascading from their hiding spot behind an overturned cabinet. Idly, he began to tidy them, when a symbol caught his eye-

 

 

–the symbol from the center of the Order's Sun Halo that Dr. Gaster had etched into the floor. “The hell _is_ that?” He frowned, picking the scrap of paper up. “Wish someone'd give me a _sign_.” As he joked, his head was rocked by another lightning strike of pain and he pitched backwards, into darkness.

 

 

–

 

  
He wouldn't be too late this time, he was certain. Monsters rushed past him, knocking into them in their hurry to get away from the Core. He mounted the stairs in pairs, cursing as he forced himself to move faster than he'd ever moved in his life and, at the top of the stairs, overlooking the giant pillar of blood red light that formed the Core, was Dr. Gaster.

His back was turned to Sans, his hands stretched out as if in supplication- now both hands had great, round holes in them, and Gaster's form seemed to melt and flicker spasmodically. His body was blocking it, but Sans could see the edges of a bright, golden light in front of him.

“Windings! What the hell are you doing?!” He shouted, racing forward to grab the taller monster by the shoulder and spin him around. Gaster obligingly turned to him, his smile wide and strained as hairline fractures crept across his skull.

**\--Hell, indeed.--**

He didn't speak, but a pair of strangely golden, spectral hands floated around him, signing his words, translating his strange language as they signed.  An image of a clock was etched deeply into his forehead and trails of dust still fluttered off of him.

Sans' eyes widened in horror. “What...what did you _do_ to yourself?” He asked, voice faint with uncharacteristic terror.

**\--You always said that I lost track of time. I...ah hah...remedied that.--**

Sans blanched, eyes glowing bright with terror. Behind Gaster, the golden light was growing stronger and taking shape. It looked like a human, but not quite...

...its sex was indefinable, wrapped as it was in flowing, golden cloths that fluttered around it in glowing ribbons. Its eyes were covered by a brightly shining golden band, upon which were etched symbols in the tongue of the Gods. Its mouth was visible, and open as if in mid-gasp, though no sound came from it. From behind it grew _wings_. Six sets, each blazing with the burning light of the Yellow God, of the Sun itself.

Sans started as he saw golden tear tracks running down its cheeks and gagged at the sudden, overwhelming stench of flowers.

“What- what is that thing?” He managed, gagging.

Gaster smiled, all the wider, his smile splitting the bottom half of his skull.

\-- **An angel.** \--

The creature wept harder, raising its hands as if in supplication. Sans starred between the two of them, blankly. “...you're _hurting_ it.” He gritted, confused by his own sudden wash of understanding.

Gaster laughed, and it was a broken, helpless sound.

\-- **I'm _saving_ us, Sans.** \--

The light from the Core suddenly flared, a darker, more menacing red and Sans saw a dark, humanoid shape stalking in its depths. The ground beneath them shook and began to fall away. “If its an angel, then what the fuck is _that_?” He shouted, pointing at the leering shadow stalking towards them from the Core.

Gaster's eye widened in alarm, splitting his fractured skull further.

\-- **What?  No!  This shouldn't be possible...the texts said there was only one!** \--

A voice surged from the darkness, high and cold, like a whisper directly to their souls. _“Foolish monster. Everyone knows...the brighter the light, the darker the shadow it casts. After all, what is an angel, without its demon?”_

“Well...fuck.” Sans replied, flatly, before spooling up the magic within him, a Skull-- his so-called Gaster Blaster-- appearing in the air beside him. “We have _got_ to get rid of that fucking thing.”

\-- **I concur.** \--

Gaster signed, raising his melting arm to bring up a Blaster of his own. They both opened fire, but the creature was too powerful, and it slammed into Gaster, striking into him again and again with a rusted knife. Sans pulled the demon off of his friend, but the damage looked fatal. Gaster gasped, weakly, as his body began to melt.

\-- **You must go, Sans. This sin is mine to bear.  I must be the one to fix it.** \--

He signed quickly, surging back to his full height, even as his body continued to drip like a horrid candle.

“Like hell am I leaving you!” Sans growled back, standing at his side.

Gaster tilted his head, looking, if anything, faintly annoyed.

**\--Noble, but unnecessary. Apologies, little brother, but this is where I leave you.--**

The demon rushed forward, fully ready to strike them both down but Gaster, shocking the demon and Sans alike, reached out and grabbed the angel's proffered hand, pulling it down and _into_ him.

His body flared into fire, burning brighter than the core, itself, the flames roaring louder than Sans' wail of horrified anguish as his body was consumed. The being of flame, neither monster nor angel but, for one brief moment, an unholy merger of the two, slammed into the demon, grappling it close to its chest as the demon struggled, screaming in rage.

 

 

_**FORGET ME.** _

 

 

The creature boomed, before leaping, backwards, into the Core. Sans leapt to catch it, moving so fast that he swore he'd not moved, at all, but actually _willed_ himself to the creature's side and, as it tipped over the edge of the platform, Sans strained with all his might, feeling the sickening burn as something blew out in his skull from the strain and he grabbed... _something_.

And then the world exploded into light.

 

 

–

 

 

Sans found himself flat on his back in the lab, gasping and clutching at his head- at his broken eye. It never _had_ worked, had it? When Papyrus' called up his magic, both eyes flared with power, but Sans had only ever managed one. Now he knew why, he though, ruefully rubbing the side of his skull and sitting up.

He frowned, recalling his first, clear memory. Lying face-first in the snow, a bundle in his arms. A skeleton child, wrapped in a dusty, tattered red cloth. Papyrus.

His brother.

He put his head in his hands, then, and muffled a scream of frustrated rage and pain.

 

 

–

 

 

Talking to Undyne had achieved absolutely _nothing_. Well, no, that wasn't _completely_ true, Papyrus thought as he nimbly dodged another barrage of light spears. It had _definitely_ achieved Undyne attacking him.

Between ducking and throwing up walls of bones with which to defend himself, Papyrus decided on telling the truth. “Undyne! The human is very nice!”

Another volley of spears-- he flattened to the ground, narrowly limbo-ing under the projectiles as they whizzed mere inches above his head.

“They like puzzles!”

A single, much larger spear, which crashed against his hastily formed fence of bones.

“And my brother's terrible puns!”

Undyne roared, letting loose of shower of tiny spears that forced him to throw himself, lightning-quick, behind a boulder.

“But we shouldn't hold that against them!”

She laughed at his joke, but that in no way slowed her frenzied attack. But that was Undyne in a nutshell- she truly gave it her all in a battle, even if it _was_ against Papyrus who was meant to be her friend. He'd admire that, if it wasn't making reasoning with her quite _difficult_ at the moment.

“They wouldn't hurt a fly!”

This gave Undyne brief pause. “What? I've never understood that phrase-- who _wouldn't_ hurt a fly? Flies are _super_ annoying!”

Papyrus skittered out from behind the boulder, hopefully. “Yes! That one has always confused me, too!”

Undyne laughed, companionably, before throwing a viciously swift spear, which got him by the scarf, pinning him to the boulder. He sighed and quickly launched a volley of bones back, before carefully rescuing his tattered, red scarf. “My brother gave me this!” He shouted, wounded.

“I'll make you a new one! Out of the human's bones!”

“...scarves are made out of cloth, Undyne.”

“PEDANT!” She shouted, launching a ferocious attack. “Stop dodging and fight me like a...a... _skeleton_!” She roared.

“Must we?” He shouted back, batting away the latest spear with a glowing bone of his own.

“OBVIOUSLY!” She roared. “I want to kill the human, you _don't_ want to kill the human-- we have reached an IMPASSE, HERE!”

Hundreds of spears rose from the ground like a line of bloody fire, racing towards Papyrus, who rolled away from them with a huff of exertion.

“But I don't want to hurt you!”

“YOU? HURT ME?” She goggled, blindly. “I laugh!” She proceeded to do so, head thrown back, hands on her hips. “See? LAUGHING!”

Papyrus pouted, pride wounded. “Alright, fine! I, the Great Papyrus, will end this!

“Bring it, bone boy!” She shouted, exultantly, as the battle began, in earnest.

 

 

–

 

 

The sound of conflict ahead made Frisk break into a run, their heart leaping in fear. Had Papyrus run into trouble with other monsters? Was it Undyne, again? The image of Papyrus being injured by the fish warrior's spears shook Frisk and they nearly stumbled in their haste to find him.

And then, mere moments later, they _did_ stumble, face-planting into hot, hard-packed earth of Hotland as a huge, spiked root shot out of the ground to trip them. Wheezing in pain and coughing from the cloud of dust their fall had made, Frisk barely had time to catch their breath before they found themselves lifted upside down into the air, a sharp pain winding around their legs.

Trapped, they looked around wildly, and then down at a small, pale flower. It seemed more the ghost of a blossom than a flower in truth, its face pallid and its petals a dingy gray. Ropy, spiked vines coiled out of the dirt around it, coiling in a entirely sinister fashion. That, then, was what was currently digging into the flesh of Frisk's leg as they coughed and gagged.

“You!” It hissed, in a high, childish voice. Its face seemed ill-formed, its expression constantly twitching and shifting. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Just...ah ha... _h-h-hanging_ around.” Frisk gasped, regretting the humor instantly as they found themselves dropped, unceremoniously, to the ground. They put their hands out to catch themselves, but it was a long fall, and they heard a sickening crunch from their left wrist as they hit the dirt.

They rolled into a crouch as quickly as they could, jumping when they saw that the flower's face was now _right_ in front of theirs, the petals brushing their cheek. Close up, the flower smelled faintly like Frisk's own pale blossoms and they shuddered.

A thin tendril, spiky but hesitant, brushed gently across their cheek, just under the blossoms covering their eye. “What is _this_?” The flower hissed, its tiny voice a tense whisper.

“I...I'm n-n-not sure.” Frisk replied, politely, as they cradled their broken wrist.

The flower frowned, its face jumping and distorting more frequently as its displeasure showed.

“No matter.” It decided, suddenly, rearing back and slapping Frisk across the cheek with the spiked tendril. Frisk cried out at the pain; it felt like a lash from a barbed whip.

“I'm going to teach you a lesson. One you should have learned a _long_ time ago.”

The flower had moved back, now, but a ring of bright, white pellets ringed the air around Frisk.

'White?' Frisk thought, quickly. 'The magic of the dead?'

“Down here, its kill...”

The pellets surged towards Frisk, suddenly quick in their deadly intent.

“...or _BE KILLED!”_

Just as the pellets would have struck them, Frisk finished muttering the fervent prayer they had begun when the magic had first appeared. A golden light burst forth from the symbol at their chest and the pellets fizzled into nothingness. Frisk stood, a golden corona of fire suffusing them, like a halo.  The flower was buffeted backwards, as if from a strong wind; pushed back, but unharmed.

“Y-you're wrong.” They murmured, simply.

Frisk moved forward and put a hand out to the little flower, gently. “I'm v-very sorry t-that someone killed you, l-little one. B-but the world can hold more t-than just pain. Let m-me help you m-move on.”

The flower hissed, face contorting into a monstrous, twisted shape with rage. Another vine lashed out, cutting Frisk's hand open. “NO!”

The flower shook itself madly, muttering fervently, “--you're not them, you _can't_ be.” Was all Frisk caught before the flower launched a barrage of lashing whips. Frisk threw their arms up to shield themselves, crying out in pain as the vines whipped across their arms, tearing strips of flesh away and painting the pale flower red with their blood.

But when the volley ended, they held out their hand to the flower, again, smiling bravely through their tears of pain. “I _just_ w-want to help you.”

“Then you really _are_ an idiot.” The flower hissed, before diving down into the earth and pulling its vines with them, leaving Frisk to cradle their bloody arms, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image reference from the Wiki: http://silenthill.wikia.com/wiki/File:Seal.png
> 
> Happily, a signing Gaster is a Gaster that doesn't use bloody WingDings, which was something of a formatting nightmare.
> 
> The spell Frisk uses is, of course, Turn Undead. Might as well make some DnD references while I'm here. ^_^
> 
> And finally, have some pertinent music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvCw3vob23g


	20. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the hiatus! Between recovering from the hospital, catching a cold, my *birthday* and running a LARP for 20 people, I've been a leeeeetle overwhelmed. Hope this chapter cheers you up!
> 
> As usual, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by two excellent AUs, Horrortale and Flowerfell. Go check them out!
> 
> Horrortale: horrortale.tumblr.com  
> Flowerfell:underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

 

The rambling coming from upstairs was getting louder and closer, so Sans, ever practical, shook himself free of his misery and quickly shuffled through the papers on the floor, now moving almost by instinct, the returned memories guiding his hand.

Footsteps padded down the stairs and the rambling became intelligible as it grew in volume. “Why bother to make a killer robot if it won't even kill _one_ bloody human? And who _knows_ what Undyne is doing-- I swear-- do I have to do everything myself? Well, yes, Dr. Alphys, I think you do. Why thank you for pointing out the _obvious_ , Dr. Alphys! Not at all, happy to help--”

Sans found a sheet of paper covered in those strange sigils and, stranger still his own, messy scrawl and, nodding grimly to himself, concentrated.

There was a brief flash of light and sound like crackling electricity but, when Alphys opened the door to Dr. Gaster's lab, there was no one there.

 

–

 

Murmuring hopeful healing prayers under their breath, Frisk pulled themselves together and hurried to find out where Papyrus had gone. Their wounds healed somewhat faster than usual, but Frisk imagined that might have something to do with the damage having been dealt by an undead creature. The little flower _had_ been strange-- it looked so like the strange flowers that kept sprouting on their face, and it had spoken...

“A-as if it _knew_ m-me.” Frisk stalled, frowning, before shaking their head to clear it and hurrying on. Ahead of them, the path split two ways, and the strange layout of the Hotlands made it impossible to see which way they needed to go. Worried, they quickly picked a path and hurried down it, determined to find Papyrus and make sure he was safe.

 

–

 

“AAAAHHH! How _dare_ you pin me to the FLOOR!” Undyne shouted from the ground, flailing angrily and trying, with little success, to pull the bones out of their arms and legs.

“I'm sorry, Undyne-- but you weren't listening to me!” Papyrus fretted, backing away cautiously as she threw tiny spears in random directions, frustrated.

“ARGH! When I get up, I'm going to bowl with your SKULL!”

“...I don't think that would work, Undyne.”

“Sure it would! Your eye sockets are perfect for finger holes! I'll use your limbs as pins and bowl a strike with your stupid HEAD! MWAHAHAHA!” She laughed, before flailing, again. Her more dramatic movements sent flurries of dust from her wounds and Papyrus winced, feelingly.

“You're going to hurt yourself.” He murmured, voice faint as he sat down, heavily. He patted his ribs, gently, and winced at how dusty his claws came away, after.

“SPEAK FOR YOURSELF!”

“Oh, believe me...I am.” He sighed, before carefully righting himself and backing away. “But...I need to go find the human, now. They're...they're very kind, but they're no good at fighting. I...hope you don't mind?”

He winced, again, as her only response was to roar in a kind of primal rage and quickly skittered away, leaving her to scream herself raw. More dust puffed from his various injuries as he moved, but only one thought concerned him-- finding his human friend, before anything bad happened to them.

 

–

  
Something _awful_ was happening to Frisk. The corridor they had turned down had quickly grown impenetrably dark, with worrying sounds of scuttling from all around them. They made to hurry along the path, but quickly found that they had stepped in... _something_ sticky. Panicking, they struggled, only to pitch forward and land in more of the sticky morass.

Concentrating, they set their holy symbol alight, filling the corridor with a soft, golden glow. “W-w-webs?”

“Ah hu hu hu! That's right, deary. So good of you to... _drop_ in.”

Frisk looked up at the sound of the bright, cheerful voice and paled, horrified to see a _spider_ woman coming down to them from the ceiling, lowering herself on a thick, ropy strand of webbing. Three red, glowing eyes met their own and Frisk tried to scramble backwards, only serving to entangle themselves further.

“Going so soon? But we haven't even _eaten_ yet!” The spider woman pulled down the surgical mask she was wearing, revealing a hideous maw of sharp, needle-like teeth.

Frisk made a strangled sound, but forced themselves to their feet. “...I'm p-p-poisonous?” They tried, hopefully.

“Ah hu hu hu! How nice of you to think of me, deary!” She grinned, horribly. “But you needn't worry. A little poison never hurt a spider-- did it, everyone?”

She raised two of her arms and a din of chittering and clicking mandibles chorused back. Frisk swallowed, convulsively. They looked around at the bevy of spiders swarming around them and tried, plaintively, “But w-w-wouldn't you rather b-b-be friends?” They held out a hand, hopefully.

The spider woman blinked all three eyes, looking confused. “Well, this is new! I've never had a snack offer to be my friend before. How lovely!” She chuckled. “Let's see if you taste as sweet as your manners.”

Suddenly, hundreds of strands of webbing shot out from the darkness, entangling frisk in a cocoon that only got tighter the more they struggled. Soon enough, despite their efforts, they found themselves high in the air, hanging upside down, the blood rushing to their head and making them dizzy.

The spider woman climbed quickly to Frisk's side, patting them gently on the cheek. “Don't worry, deary. Since you've been _so_ polite, I'll skip my usual meal preparations...usually, I suck my victim dry over, oh, at _least_ three days.”

She laughed, pleasantly. “But you're so tiny, I'd probably just hit bone!”

Frisk groaned, too confused from the blood pooling in their head to manage words. The spider woman just laughed, again-- before lowering her fanged maw to Frisk's throat and, in a single , vicious movement, tearing it open.

Frisk felt a hot, wet rush, followed by a sucking, searing pain and then, thankfully, nothing more...

 

–

 

When Frisk opened their eyes, they found themselves lying on a tiled floor-- light reflected strangely off the tiles and Frisk winced as they saw the bright glare of electric light. When was the last time they'd seen an electric light? The ones above ground had failed long before they were born-- they'd only ever seen by candles, magic or the light of the increasingly infrequent sun.

Confused but, thankfully, no longer injured, they stood and looked around-- with both eyes. With a start, Frisk put their hands to their face and found it free of blossoms. A muffled curse caught their attention and they looked around to see Sans...the other Sans...working on a very strange, and complex looking machine.

“Oh.” Frisk mumbled, with a sigh. Too much to hope, then, that they'd be rid of the flowers for good. Feeling awkward, they moved over to where Sans was crouched, tightening a bolt. “Um...h-hi.”

Sans jumped, smacking his head on a metal panel. He cursed, quite colorfully, before giving them a rueful, somewhat crooked grin. “H-hey yourself, Sweetheart.” He stammered, flushing slightly. “Uh...I m-mean...damn, w-what am I s-supposed to call you?”

“F-Frisk?”

He winced at that, shaking his head.

“...m-m-my Sans calls me P-Preacher?”

He snorts. “Literal b-bastard, isn't he?” He rolled to his feet, looking them over. “W-whatcha' doing back here, then, _Preacher_? Here t-to hear my confession?”

Frisk smiled, awkwardly. “I...I d-don't know, have you sinned?”

“Preach, I'm b-b-bad to the _bone_.”

Frisk giggled, happily, before glancing askance at the strange contraption behind him, curiously.

“T-time machine.” He explained, waving at it in a frustrated manner. “W-well...once I get it w-working. I'm k-kinda' winging it, here. W-working from a b-bunch of screwed up old notes I f-found in the C-core.”

Frisk looked down at the reams of paper and blue prints that littered the floor, many in a language they didn't even understand. “B-better you than me...this looks...c-complicated.”

“Well, m-maybe for _bone_ heads.” He tapped his skull, snorting. “But l-luckily for us, I'm not a _c-complete_ idiot.” He frowned, as if at an unpleasant memory. Frisk gingerly patted his arm. “F-from what I've s-seen, you're quite bright.” They offered, consolingly.

He smiled, a bit sheepishly and opened his mouth to speak, but the words became hard to hear and, Frisk's vision grew dark, and blurry...

 

–

 

Frisk came to with a _splitting_ headache. Wincing, they sat up carefully, sighing as they found their vision ruined once more. They checked their face and found a new blossom on the bridge of their nose. Gritting their teeth, they stood and squinted at their surroundings-- they were at that fork in the road. Wincing, they quickly turned away from the path they'd taken before, shuddering as they remembered the spider woman's laughter ringing in their ears...

They shook themselves and headed quickly down the other path-- nearly colliding into Papyrus in the process as he turned a corner.

Papyrus caught them, and a cloud of dust puffed into the air between them. Frisk looked him over, eyes widening in alarm. There was a large rent across his chest and the tattered clothing he wore was thick with dust-- three of his ribs were shattered and his left arm hung at a worrying angle, one of the supinators almost completely destroyed. Worse, a long, splintering crack wended its way up the side of his skull, stopping _just_ shy of his left eye.

“W-what _happened?_ ” Frisk squeaked in alarm as Papyrus tried, gamely, to look less injured.

“I...ran into Undyne.” He winced, looking back the way he came. Frisk made a pained sound and he quickly added, “But she's okay! Mostly! I didn't kill her.” He puffed up, proudly.

Frisk sighed, putting their hands out flat on Papyrus' injured chest. “I'm j-just glad you're here now.” They murmured, closing their good eye and letting their healing magic spread out from their chest and into Papyrus in soothing, golden waves. The energy sparked between them and Frisk opened their eye in surprise. Papyrus' soul and Frisk's were hovering in the space between them, beating in unison as the golden waves continued to strengthen. Papyrus' body healed quickly, broken bones snapping back together as if new, dusting burning off of him in waves of golden sparkles. As the injuries healed, a wave of warmth and joy flowed between them, strong enough to make Frisk gasp. Papyrus put his forehead to theirs as the light grew too bright to look upon and then lowered his head to meet their lips in a strange sort of kiss.

Frisk leaned into the embrace as the healing concluded, feeling lighter and happier than they had in some time, their headache simply fading away. Papyrus hummed against them, pulling them into a close, tight embrace as they sank down to the ground, together.

They stayed on the ground, entangled with each other for some time, Papyrus idly nuzzling Frisk's face in contentment, his hands roaming under their sweater. Eventually, though, Frisk came to their senses, flushing red and pulling away. “Ah...P-papyrus?”

“Yes?” He practically purred, beaming happily down at them.

“Uh...I...S-sans...I m-mean, your b-brother...we...uh... _t-this--”_ Frisk flailed in a panicked sort of charade, which it seemed Papyrus managed to find some meaning in, as he put the flustered human down.

“You and my brother?”

Frisk nodded emphatically, cheeks crimson.

“That's _wonderful!_ ” Papyrus cheered, sweeping them up in another hug. Frisk goggled. “It is?”

“Yes! My favorite human and my brother! Its perfect!” Healed, he hopped nimbly to his feet, swinging Frisk up with him, making them giggle with the giddiness of it all.

“B-but what about--”

Papyrus cut Frisk off, still chattering happily. “You, me and Sans! I _knew_ we were all going to get along.” And with that, he strode off down the path, humming cheerfully to himself as Frisk found themselves incapable of doing more than staring in abject confusion.

 

 

 


	21. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! (Not *well*, but definitely alive).
> 
> For those of you who don't follow my Tumblr (http://erisacolyte.tumblr.com/), I've been in the hospital. A standard laparoscopy to remove my hideously inflamed gall bladder went *impressively* wrong and, long story short, I left the hospital with *45* staples holding my guts together...
> 
> ...which was certainly an experience. Either way, the staples are out, now, so I'm posting to prove that this story's still going. Its a short chapter, but I will be making pains to update regularly from here on out.
> 
> As usual, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by the excellent AUs of Horrortale and Flowerfell. Go check them out!
> 
> Horrortale: horrortale.tumblr.com  
> Flowerfell: underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

Sans appeared outside the Core, taking care not to be seen by anyone that might be nearby and looked around, cautiously. Where were Frisk and Papyrus? Had something happened?

Logically, he knew his brother was an accomplished fighter-- they'd hunted together on the Surface many times and, for all her faults, Undyne had been training him to join the Royal Guard. But fear is never logical...

Moreover, fears for the Preacher's continued health were entirely well-founded. The scrawny human would snap like a twig in a fight and those flowers didn't exactly bode well, either. Sighing, he concentrated and began stepping in and out of reality, checking his shortcuts one by one until he found his brother and the strange, human friend they'd made.

 

***

 

Now loping along with Frisk in tow, Papyrus was making good time, head snapping this way and that to keep a wary eye out for Undyne or any other monsters on the path through the increasingly warm caverns. A turn in the road led them to a strange, mechanical section of paths over a large pit-- a hellish glow from far below showed the lava that flowed through the Hotlands.

He put Frisk down, looking at the complex mechanisms in confusions. Cogs whirred and brass panels gleamed, brightly. “What...is this?”

Frisk looked around, thoughtfully, before lighting up. “A p-p-puzzle!”

Papyrus blinked, looking around, wildly. “Really?”

“Y-yes! Look, t-those panels are all d-d-different shades-- and there's a s-section of panels on the wall, there. I think its a k-k-key to deciphering which t-tiles are s-s-safe to s-s-step on.”

Papyrus grinned, suddenly, eyes brightening with understanding. “You're right! Oh, wowie! And look at those air vents in the center! I bet they're a puzzle, too!”

Frisk grinned enthusiastically, peering across the wide gap. “A-and that third s-section has moving p-platforms!” 

“Cool!” Papyrus practically vibrated with poorly checked excitement. Frisk punched their fist in the air, looking determined. “R-ready to win t-this thing?”

“I was born ready!” 

Entirely determined, the two began cheerfully running between the tile puzzle and they key, comparing the patterns and silently competing to see who would decipher the message, first. Papyrus cheered when he won and Frisk, in a moment of pure levity, sunk dramatically to the ground in mock defeat. 

Eventually, though, they both deciphered the first riddle and scampered across-- Frisk taking more care than Papyrus, their blinded eye making a mess of their depth perception. Papyrus moved like an unholy ballerina, gracefully bouncing from one safe tile to the next-- but, despite the difference in speeds, both made their way across...

...and then the supposedly safe platform Frisk had landed on gave way, with a metallic, grinding whir and they found themselves falling, Papyrus' cry of alarm already tiny and distant as the rushing air roared around them.

They twisted in mid-air, desperate to find any purchase-- their back itched furiously around the shoulder blades, but otherwise nothing came to their aid as the lava grew brighter and closer and their hair began to frizzle away in the smoldering heat.

Choking already, Frisk closed their good eye tight and it was only Papyrus who got to watch, horrified, as the tiny human was flash fried-- their body evaporating before it even hit the lava.


	22. The Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, to prove that I still love you all! I get tired very easily these days, but I am...DETERMINED! to finish this bad boy. Hope the mini-updates are enough to tide you over, in the meantime.
> 
> As usual, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by the excellent AUs of Horrortale and Flowerfell-- go check them out!  
> Horrortale: horrortale.tumblr.com  
> Flowerfell: underfart-snas.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, I have a Patreon: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack)

When Frisk awoke, it was not to fear but a newer, more alien sensation-- rage.

Their one, good eye opened wide as they lay on the hot, dusty ground and pounded their small fist into the dirt. That panel had been safe!

Papyrus looked back and hissed in alarm to find his companion on the ground. “Human! Did the puzzle overwhelm you with its complexity?”

He quickly dropped to the ground beside them, peering worriedly at them. Frisk huffed a sigh of irritation and took pains to calm down, raising a hand, unhappily, to feel out the newest blossom, high over the bridge of their nose. It made their face feel tense and achy. 

“N-no...I...I'm f-fine.” They sighed, then squeaked in alarm as Papyrus easily picked them back up and held them. “S-s-seriously!” They laughed, despite themselves.

Papyrus shook his head, solemnly. “No, lets solve this puzzle together, human!” 

This time Frisk found the solution, first-- and how could they not? They'd already found it before. Papyrus carried them from tile to tile and Frisk pointed out the one that had tipped them into the lava, saying only “Um...c-cleric intuition?” when asked why they couldn't stop there.

Once on the supposedly safe platform, Papyrus immediately began looking over the large air vents that made up the next section of the puzzle-- arrows carved into the floor pointed in different directions-- some of which seemed to end in walls of wicked, gore-encrusted spikes. “It seems others have not been as good at puzzles as we are!” Papyrus cheered, happily.

“Mmm-hm...” Frisk murmured, distractedly as they crouched down next to the panel that had betrayed them. No, they hadn't been wrong-- it was a safe panel...but...

“C-cheater.” Frisk mumbled, blowing away dirt to reveal hinges on the panel. On a hunch, they looked up and around them-- high at the cavern's ceiling, a small, red orb glowed brightly like a tiny replica of the Blood Moon on the Surface. Frisk blinked, thinking hard.

“I...I t-think we're being w-watched.”

“What?” Papyrus shouted back. Frisk looked around in surprise to see that the tall skeleton was being swept to a platform to the west of them by a sharp gust of air from one of the puzzle vents. 

Frisk winced. “N-nevermind...”

Frowning, they quickly looked over the vents, they're blinded eye making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead of them. The headache certainly wasn't making things any easier, but it didn't look like the vents went both ways-- Papyrus would have to finish the puzzle on his own...

...and so would Frisk.

 

***

 

In a room filled with flickering, blue-white light, Dr. Alphys sat, fidgeting with strange machinery. Mettaton stood nearby, watching the screen in front of them. “What's happening now, Mettaton?” She muttered, a faint hiss of frustration entering her voice.

“Ah...the human is looking over the vent puzzle. They...seem to be having trouble with their vision.”

A beat.

“Oh! Sorry, Doctor.”

The diminutive lizard woman snorted derisively, tapping the grimy bandages over her blinded eyes with a ragged talon. “I'm pretty sure I made you a little smarter than that, Mettaton...do you think the human can make it across?”

“...it looks like it, yes.” Mettaton admitted, reluctantly. The memory of singing with the strange, peaceful cleric still resonated to him, a moment of pure joy in an otherwise vicious, dangerous world.

“Excellent!” Alphy's face split in a wide, cheery smile. “And when they do, pull that lever on the left, will you?”

“...will it hurt them?” Mettaton eyed the lever unhappily, nervously worrying his bottom lip. Alphys chuckled, “Oh, no! A human smart enough to bypass my security system is a human I'd very much like to meet. The lever will just deposit them here.”

Mettaton relaxed, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Alphys stood, tail wagging frenetically behind her as she left the Scrying chamber. “...the hurting comes later.”


	23. The Check-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there's been a bit of a gap. As you know, I had surgery recently and recovery has been...mixed, to say the very least. Still, I've managed to write a little teaser for you; I hope it tides you over until I can write more frequently.
> 
> As usual, this Undertale fanfic is inspired by the excellent AUs of Flowerfell and Horrortale. Go check 'em out!  
> horrortale.tumblr.com  
> underfart-snas.tumblr.com

 

 

As Frisk woke, head pounding, vision a gray-tinged blur, the first feeling (after pain, of course) was one of annoyance. They'd done the puzzle right, they'd made it past the trapped tile and they'd gotten across the vent puzzle with ease-- only for a pneumatic tube to appear above them and suck them, suddenly, up and away.

They'd moved faster than they thought possible, banging against the sides of the air-powered tube and then dropped, _heavily_ to the ground. The room they'd crashed into was relatively dark, with a low, dull red light pulsing around the edges of the ceiling.

Frisk checked themselves over, wincing as they took stock of a broken leg, various bruises and cuts and a sudden wave of sickness-- spitting, they added “missing teeth” to the litany of injuries. The door to the small room opened _just_ as they began seeing whether or not the Yellow God would see fit to help them with their wounds-

-a short, blindfolded yellow lizard woman stood in the door way, wearing nothing more than a tattered lab coat, her claws clicking against each other as she rubbed her hands together, nervously. “Oh. Oh _wow._ ” The woman whispered, reverently. “You're a real, _live_ human.”

“Um...y-yes?” Frisk offered, sizing the woman up. The lizard-woman seemed nervous and her blindfolded gaze seemed to rest on nothing in particular, while her nostrils flared, strongly.

Blinking, Frisk hurriedly set about healing themselves while the lizard woman began to ramble somewhat incoherently to herself about 'opportunities' and 'great designs'. The bruises faded fast enough, but the leg was refusing to med the break-- it would take hours, Frisk realized, mournfully. Still, the rest of the damage was healing nicely and, if the woman in front of her rambled long enough, Frisk could always see about limping past her.

Unfortunately, _just_ as Frisk was considering such an action, the lizard woman waddled forward with surprising speed and accuracy and grabbed Frisk by the shirt front in a nervous, grasping sort of way. “Ineedtoknowhowyouworkokay?” The lizard woman fairly exploded, breathless with excitement.

“Ah!” Frisk stumbled backwards, their shirt tearing away under the woman's claws. “I-I work like every _other_ human.” The lizard woman groped blindly at the air, looking frustrated. “All I know is form books! _Books!_ ” She cried, snatching at Frisk again.

Frisk managed a clumsy dodge and huffed, unhappily. “We need air to b-breathe, food t-to eat, w-w-water to drink and s-sleep at night. I p-promise, that's all there is to it.”

The lizard woman lunged and more _fell_ on Frisk than tackled them, but the result was much the same—Frisk pinned to the floor. They cried out as their broken leg twisted underneath them and the lizard woman sniffed the air, excitedly. “You're _bleeding_!”

Frisk tried for words, but in her excitement, the lizard woman had pushed up with her claws, putting all of her weight onto the diminutive priest's chest, forcing the air from their lungs. They wheezed, helplessly and the lizard woman suddenly jumped, scrambling off of them. “Oh! Yes! Air to breathe- seems you weren't lying about that...hm...need more tests. Come on, follow me.”

She reached out, blindly, grabbing Frisk's injured leg and _yanking_. Frisk screamed as they were dragged along the floor and quickly gave in to the wave of pain that led to darkness, and the relief of unconsciousness.

 

 

***

 

 

Frisk awoke, not with a new flower, but with the unpleasant feeling of cold metal on their naked, shivering flesh. They opened their eye, warily, and immediately shut it again at the bright light shining down on them.

A voice intruded on their headache-- “Subject is approximately 90 lbs in weight, malnourished by human standards. Subject is an adult human...I think.”

“I _am_.” Frisk grumbled through gritted teeth.

“Oh! Subject is awake.” The lizard woman loomed suddenly into view, “looking” down her snout at Frisk and smiling with nervous cheer. “Hi!”

“...h-hi?” Frisk tried to look around, but too much head movement made their migraine flare up, so they tried to sit...and found themselves strapped down. “W-what are you doing? W-where are w-we?”

“Oh! How rude! I should've said-- we're in my laboratory – slash – atelier – slash - ritual room?” The lizard woman explained, waving a talon-ed hand in a vague manner.

Frisk processed this, as the lizard woman began rummaging around somewhere behind their head. “O-okay...and, m-maybe I should h-have asked this first; w-why am I _naked_?”

There was a clatter of metal-on-metal behind them and the lizard woman chuckled, nervously. “Oh, yes, well...clothing gets in the way of...uh, _exploratory_ surgery.”

Frisk opened their mouth to retort, only to leave it hanging silently open in horror as the lizard woman returned to her side, with various bladed surgical tools clutched between her claws. The lizard woman smiled, excitedly.

“Shall we begin?”

 


	24. Editorial: An Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual, Flowerfell and Horrortale (now called Undertomb) belong to:  
> http://horrortale.tumblr.com/  
> https://underfart-snas.tumblr.com/
> 
> And Undertale is the wonderful property of Toby Fox.

Hi. This is the author here, with a  _very_ awkward apology to tender.  "The Hardest Thing" will not be updated.  

As anyone who reads my Author notes will have noted, I had major surgery in the Summer, and am still recovering, after complications arose.  During that time, I watched the Flowerfell debacle (in which people constantly disrespected the author of the AU and stole their works) and came to feel very guilty for my unwitting addition to this saga.

I don't feel good about writing something based on Flowerfell, considering how much the original AU creator was hurt by the actions of the community. So, many apologies to everyone who has enjoyed this story, but I won't be updating it any more.  You may feel free to write your own endings to this story, provided you meet two criteria:

1). You have permission from the creator of Flowerfell to do so.  
2). You post a link to this work in your creation.

Again, apologies for this.  Eventually, I plan to start another project and I hope you'll enjoy that.


End file.
